Never Again: Nona
by Smizzlemort
Summary: Elsa Muller is a long way from England, and the life she had previously known. Her life has irrevocably changed, but she finds the wounds no longer weep as they once had. But against the backdrop of the Vietnam War and the arrival of the prophetic Wolverine, Elsa finds her world thrown once more into disarray and in the most devastating way possible. (Sequel to Never Again:Decima)
1. Quiet Mornings

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters within this story, or subsequent stories, that you, the reader, may recognize from the X-Men Universe **

Chapter 1

-Quiet Mornings-

* * *

_We flatter those we scarcely know, we please the fleeting guest, and deal full many a thoughtless blow, to those who love us best. __**-Ella Wheeler Wilcox**_

* * *

_June, 1968 New York_

Gentle sunshine pierced through high-set rectangular windows, casting small and misshapen shadows onto the freshly waxed wooden floorboards and along the magnolia walls. Where the light had been obstructed and scattered into shards by the sheer chiffon curtains, tiny flecks of glittering dust danced within them in small downward spirals. A slight breeze wafted through an open window, gently tumbling through the modest apartment, carrying with it the striking scents and sounds of the Bronx.

Through the kitchen window, she observed the increasing hubbub of the streets below with slight disinterest, gently stirring the mugs of coffee she had prepared. The smell wafted above her, settling well against the rhythmic hum of the city.

As a child, she had never imagined a life in a city, let alone New York. She had never thought of living outside the moors of Banbury and breathing anything other than the crisp country air.

But that was a different time, a different place, a different world.

There was no use for that now.

Sighing, she picked up the mugs and proceeded to the bedroom, yawning into the smooth boulder of her exposed shoulder as she did. She carefully traversed through the apartment with the steaming mugs in both hands, stepping over the various articles of clothing which had been strewn about by the antics of the night before. She stepped in and carefully set the mugs down, watching him in his slumbered state with deep fondness.

Tiny blonde hairs bristled as his bare chest rose and fell in a steady pattern, his nostrils contracting and flaring with each breath. She was momentarily reminded of her own nakedness, of which was cloaked only by his shirt.

Smiling, she gently ran her fingers up and down his cheek, attempting to stir him from his sleep. With a quiet snort his bright blue eyes fluttered open, though at first a little groggy.

"Good morning." Elsa Muller greeted quietly, pulling herself up closer to him.

Alexander Summers offered her a quick glance, his eyes glittering with satisfaction. He smiled, closed his eyes again.

"Good morning." He said, his tone unmistakeably content. He rolled over and snuggled himself beside her, resting his head on her lap.

"What time is it?" Alex asked, his voice slightly muffled.

"Half-past six." said Elsa, with a slight chuckle.

Alex instantly rolled back.

"Jesus."

"And it's Monday."

Sighing, Alex gently tugged on Elsa's arm and pulled her to him, tucking her beneath his chin.

"Let's call in sick." He suggested, running his fingers up and down her arm. "How about that? We'll just lie in bed all day."

"_Just_ lie in bed?" asked Elsa coyly. She immediately felt rather sheepish; twenty-four years old and still that sort of talk didn't come naturally to her.

Elsa could feel his smile against the top her head.

"Not necessarily." He murmured.

Elsa couldn't help but grin, thinking of the numerous times they had cancelled their classes and spent the day together. Out of goodwill, their boss and dear friend, Charles Xavier had never said anything. It was an undeniable perk, but of course, Charles' good nature made them feel all the more guilty about their escapades. But when the feelings and thoughts arose, they were like giddy teenagers.

But Elsa was grateful for it, for the awe and exhilaration of young love that still existed between them. Even all that had happened, from the moment they had met, she felt perpetually blessed that life had been kind to them in these five years and had allowed them to grow alongside each other.

Sighing, Elsa glanced at the pair of dirty blue overalls Alex had hung against the door of their armoire. It hung from an inside hook, covered in splashes of paint and dark patches of oil and peppered all over with tiny holes. The ends of the arms and legs had begun to fray and despite Elsa's continuous nagging Alex had done nothing to fix them. Elsa worked as the Head of English at the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and it was a job she thoroughly enjoyed. She lived for the spark she saw in the eyes of her students, as they discussed the intricate themes of various literary, albeit human, texts and the parallels between those and mutants lives. In her humble opinion, her students were nothing short of brilliant and not a single day was a burden. She had always been content with her work and the security it provided her, but Alex had not been.

In the years since the Missile Crisis, he had been fiercely intent on securing a steady future for the two of them, and as such had taken to working in a garage in addition to his position as Head of Physical Education at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. It had brought in valuable extra money and had allowed an accelerated entrance into the first-home market. But it had often meant very late nights and early mornings for him, and as a result Elsa hardly saw Alex beyond school hours.

But balmy, slightly lazy, mornings like these made it all the worthwhile.

"I suppose it's easy to forget that we're teachers." said Elsa, propping herself up. She turned round and faced him, grinning from ear to ear. "Exams start today."

Groaning, Alex flopped against the bed-head and crossed his arms over his chest. "I almost forgot."

Elsa effortlessly launched herself off the water-bed, the mattress sloshing and slopping as she did. She returned with her heavy pile of papers, fresh off the copier.

"_I _didn't." She grinned, shaking them in her hands.

"Would you look at that?" Alex laughed, taking the exams into his hands. He opened one and flicked through it, raising his brow at the sight of every several pages.

"This looks impossible." He scoffed.

"I think you underestimate our students." said Elsa.

Alex looked up. "I think everyone does."

It was true, Elsa only taught the junior and senior classes, but there was something to be said about every student at the school. Alone, confused and isolated in their home states, amongst their own they had all burst forth and flourished at exponential rates. This year, the first graduating class would leave the school and Elsa could honestly affirm that she felt genuine affection for each and every one.

Placing the exams into her satchel, Elsa reached over and pecked Alex lightly on the lips.

"We best be getting ready."

"Or we could wait another ten minutes."

A wicked grin spread across Alex's handsome face as he reached out to her, gently clasping his hand around her wrist. Elsa let out a small giggle as he pulled her towards him and enveloped her beneath the covers.

* * *

The rush of Monday mornings was bad enough as it was, even worse so when done in heels.

Elsa rushed through the front gates of the school, not waiting for Alex to catch up. The 'Gifted Youngsters' sign which sat above the gate swung lightly in the summer breeze, making her irrational fear of it crashing down and impaling her all the worse.

Her strapped heels clacked incessantly against the gravel pathway, the belt of her knee-length skirt shifting uncomfortably against her waist with each step.

Through the numerous windows of the mansion, she could already see the students hustling and bustling about. No doubt they were desperately exchanging last minute information and ideas, some no doubt acquiring certain knowledge for the first time.

The younger children had taken to the outdoors, enjoying the early summer sun. They rushed and skidded around the newly installed basketball court, screaming with delight and basking in the joy of no examinations, as older students watched with obvious jealousy.

Elsa quickly slipped through the front double-doors, but almost skidded right into a high-speed Hank McCoy. In the confusion, Hank tripped over his feet and the papers he had been carrying flew out of his hands, sailing in the air in every possible direction.

The two bent down and began to collect them

"Good morning, Hank." laughed Elsa, reaching around the banisters of the stairs and pulling out wayward sheets of paper.

"Good morning, Elsa." Hank returned with equal blitheness.

He sighed, readjusting his glasses.

"I'm so sorry about that." giggled Elsa, handing the papers to Hank.

"No, that was all me." said Hank, waving his hand dismissively. "I've been flying about all morning."

He placed the papers upon a nearby stool and gave her a quick hug. His cobalt fur stuck up at different angles atop his head, his bright yellow eyes were rimmed with red and his eye-lids drooped tiredly; no doubt he had woken up at an obscene hour to prepare for the day.

It was something Elsa admired her good friend for, his selflessness and his dedication; he loved their students as much as she did. He never took any liberties or short cuts; his priority was always the welfare and betterment of his students.

And it had been good for him too.

The years spent welcoming young mutants, all possessing a diverse and incredible range of abilities, had allowed Hank to feel all the more comfortable with himself. Increasingly, he spent less time in front of a mirror and more in front of the classroom. However, it did not negate the numerous occasions Elsa had watched as he caught his reflection in a mirror or a window and stared in despair, and it was something that saddened her greatly.

"Everything ready?" Hank asked, snapping Elsa out of her daze.

Smiling, she pulled the exams out from her satchel.

"My students will not be able to feel their hands by the time they're finished."

"Well, you know what they say; the best way to educate children is to break them." A voice called from behind them.

A rather debonair Sean Cassidy emerged from the shadows, his arms crossed behind his back and an impish smile spread wide across his face. His normally wild carroty hair had been slicked back against his head, and the bushy moustache he had been working on for the last four months had been visibly brushed and trimmed. He donned a mustard tweed blazer, complete with tartan trousers and bright red bow tie fastened to the apex of his throat.

It was something that he did, during every exam period, to dress like he was 'related to Charles' and walk around the school waving a cane and barking 'I _say!_' in a stiff English accent (one which he proudly proclaimed he modelled off Elsa's own) at every passing student.

Surprisingly enough, none of the students had grown openly tired of it, in fact glad for his everlasting cheeriness.

"A _very_ wise man once said that." said Sean, tipping his head slightly.

Elsa laughed, crossing her arms. "Was he called...Sean Cassidy?"

"Why, yes!" exclaimed Sean, waving his cane triumphantly in the air.

Frowning slightly, Hank pushed forward to the main dining hall which had been cleared into an examination room.

"Well, I guess we better set up."

"Where's Alex?" Sean asked Elsa.

Before Elsa could answer, Alex appeared from behind them. He was carrying numerous sports equipment and bags, and a visible film of sweat covered his forehead.

"Alex is in a dreamlike hell, where Charles' face plasters the walls and screams at him 'wake up won't you, old boy?'" said Alex, setting the equipment down. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and sighed.

There was a slight rumble and the whir of a motor which caused the group to turn around and watch as Charles Xavier rolled towards them down the hallway, fresh faced and dressed in his best suit.

Even after all this time, it was still strange for Elsa to see him so; at any time, she still expected him to magically stand up and walk about the mansion. Hank had managed to motorize the wheelchair, which provided Charles some independence. But it was clear to everyone that it wasn't the same; something would always be missing.

"I'm thoroughly flattered you dream of me, Alex." chuckled Charles, to which Alex happily nodded in acknowledgement.

Charles shifted in his wheelchair, the leather seat no doubt causing the Professor much discomfort against the summer heat. But it was clear that his discomfort extended beyond the seat of his wheelchair.

After a moment, Charles clasped his hands together.

"Well, I don't know about all of you, but I cannot wait to get started."

Smiling, he restarted his wheelchair and moved to join Hank in the dining hall. Alex swiftly followed, with Elsa and Sean trailing behind.

Sean was simply unable to contain his wicked grin, leaning down to whisper in Elsa's ear.

"Sounds like you should be worried."

Elsa couldn't help but laugh. If there were someone she loved just as much as she loved Alex, it was Charles. And she suspected Alex felt the same.

* * *

By the time the last batch of exams had concluded for the day, it was well into the afternoon. The summer sun had set upon the horizon, casting wondrous shadows and striking colours of orange through to magenta across the mansion.

Due to the use of the dining hall for examinations, supper had been taken outside into the back field. Set beneath a pocket of tall magnolias, several rows of tables and mismatched chairs were filled by hungry students and teachers, their excitable chatter drifting high into the air.

Elsa was trekking back to the mansion, feeling slightly content. The day had run smoothly, and none of her students seemed overly stressed or anxious.

But it was not the students she had ever been worried about; she knew they were going to be just fine. It was Charles who had caught her attention.

She stood before the doors to his office, debating with herself as to whether to go in or not.

It was true, Charles had returned from that day on the beach irrevocably altered. And to the students and new staff who did not know better, his behaviour never seemed off or unusual.

It was blaringly obvious, however, to Elsa and to those who had been with Charles from the beginning.

Before she was able to bring herself to knock, Charles' voice drifted through.

"Come in, Elsa."

Elsa could feel the exhaustion in his voice. Sighing, she pushed through.

Elsa was mildly taken aback. Books and papers were strewn all over the normally well kept office, with a chair overturned and a seeping pot of ink lying in the middle of the floor. Elsa noticed several pencils rolling lifelessly upon his desk, snapped into jagged halves.

Charles himself was sitting in his grand leather desk seat, his back turned and only the tops of his curly copper hair visible.

"Charles?" Elsa asked, staring at his office with unease which was made even worse by his silence.

Charles had his good days and his bad days. He never said anything, but all those who knew could see how terribly he missed his adoptive sister Raven, how much he hated how life had changed for him.

Elsa pressed on. "You seemed...you seemed preoccupied this morning."

She pulled up the overturned chair and sat down in it, absently twisting her fingers in her lap.

"Oh, you know what exam period is like." replied Charles lazily. Elsa could detect a slight slur in his voice and her eyes immediately glanced over at the empty decanter of whisky on his desk.

"Yes." said Elsa slowly. "The first year we held exams. I don't know if its applicable five years later."

Charles let out an audible snort and turned round in his seat.

Elsa felt like crying herself.

Charles was uncharacteristically dishevelled. His eyes were blood-shot and puffy, his cheeks slick with dried tears. His hair had fallen messily into his brilliant blue eyes, with the knot of his tie hanging loosely around his neck. The calm and pleasant Professor from the morning was long gone.

Elsa looked down at her lap. "I would ask what's wrong, but I think I already know the answer to that."

Charles rested an arm on his desk, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. His sniffed, his bottom lip quivering.

"There isn't a day that goes by that I don't _miss_ her."

"I know." Elsa said, sighing herself. "But it's what she wanted."

"It's not what I wanted." Charles said bitterly.

Raven did not occupy Elsa's mind as much as she did Charles', but she missed her good friend all the same.

Raven had changed so much in the time Elsa had known her, had turned so quickly from a timid and insecure girl into a self-assured and resolute young woman. She wondered where she was, what she was doing, what path her life had taken since that day. It had been five years since Elsa had last seen her, in any form, and the only news she ever heard were the rumours which circulated the activities of Erik Lensher and his motley crew of mutants.

_Erik. _

Now there was a friend Elsa longed to see. She often wondered whether he still considered her a friend, whether if they were to meet tomorrow they would be able to go on as they had all that time ago. She wondered if he hated her now, for choosing love over all else. She wondered if he thought her weak like the humans he so vehemently despised.

Elsa looked up to the sound of squeaking wheels and the churn of wood against wood; Charles was attempting to shift out of his desk-chair and into his wheelchair.

Elsa immediately sprang to her feet.

"Don't!" demanded Charles, his tone unmistakeably livid. Elsa watched in discomfort as Charles achingly pulled himself out one seat into another, huffing with exertion and exasperation as he grabbed his lifeless legs and hauled them into the foot rest of his wheelchair.

"It's not all." He breathed.

His chest still heaving heavily, Charles rolled round the side of the desk and grabbed an opened envelope. He handed it to Elsa, who took it with both hands.

Elsa's heart sank.

It was a letter of sorts, from the United States military, declaring the conscription of eligible staff and students at the Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters for the war in Vietnam. Accompanying it, was a flier with the time honoured image of Uncle Sam. He stared out indiscriminately, with a finger pointed forward and the term 'I want you!' sitting beneath him.

"Most of the staff will be called up." Charles bemoaned, shaking his head. "Along with the _entire_ graduating class."

Dozens upon dozens of faces flashed before her eyes. Young, vulnerable faces exchanging their pens for guns and donning the uniform of men, reeking of death, despair and pain.

But, rather selfishly, one face stood out in particular. A face she couldn't bear think about losing.

She had been hoping against hope that they would be left alone, that the government would conveniently forget about them. That the_ world _would conveniently forget.

Elsa could feel her heart quickening in beat, a small knot of pain forming at her temples. They had been so careful, so hopeful, and now it would seem that it was all about to slip through their fingers.

* * *

**AN: Argh! First of all, welcome to my new readers and a warm welcome back to my old ones! Thank you for taking a chance and opening up this story; I really appreciate it! I know this chapter didn't have a lot of 'action' in it, but we're only just starting. **

**For my new readers, this is a sequel to my story Never Again: Decima (Originally named just 'Never Again') and whilst its not entirely necessary to have read the first one, there is a lot of information and bits and pieces that were set out in the first story that are sort of integral to understanding this one; I highly recommend you read that too. **

**So...how did you find it? Like it, love it, hate it? Let me know!**


	2. One Day

Chapter Two

-One Day-

* * *

She had lain awake all through the night, and all through the dark hours of the morning.

The thickness of the air seemed to have doubled; sticky and pungent in a way she had never experienced. The strange creaks of the wooden floors and the moans of the walls seemed to echo throughout the Mansion at a deafening volume. Her senses seemed to have been uncomfortably heightened, completely aware of the tiniest smells and sounds.

She had lain with her back to him, his back to hers and a space between them that had been almost unbearable. Her gaze had been fixated on the spot of mould which had begun to grow in the top corner of their bedroom, but she had known that he had not been asleep either.

They had retired for the evening in anger, had laid in their bed each still fuming and their minds reeling with their own resentment.

Alex had been officially conscripted into the United States Military and Elsa had been adamant that she would find a way to join him in Vietnam. They had spent much of the evening screaming at the other, begging, pleading and protesting. Alex simply would not hear any of it; he couldn't fight in a foreign land knowing that his beloved was also in direct danger. Elsa insisted that she felt no different; she could not bear to live in relative safety whilst he risked his life.

No agreement had been reached, no consensus achieved, and so they had simply abated their quarrel for the time being.

Alex had already risen, but Elsa was still lying in their bed. Her pillow was still wet with the tears she had seeped throughout the evening. The cold, empty space beside her and the anger which still lingered compounded Elsa's grief.

Today, the Army would come and collect them. Come and take them away to fight as soldiers, in a war waged by politicians. Elsa couldn't bear it. Her life was irrevocably intertwined with Alex's, and she couldn't stand the fact that she, once again, had no control of it.

There was a soft tap on the door, and Elsa's heart almost skipped a beat. It took a few seconds to remind herself that she and Alex had locked up their apartment and had stayed at the school for the night.

She propped herself up, hastily wiping her cheeks clean of the residue from her tears and rubbed her eyes dry.

"Yes?"

A hand peeked through the door, pushing it open to reveal her visitor.

"Miss Muller?"

Elsa smiled.

Everett Thomas stood at the door with half of his body already in the room and half of it still in the corridor. The top of his head almost touched the door frame, his thick curly hair gently brushing against the wooden panel.

He had already changed into the clothes the military had sent along to the school; pressed, ironed and tucked neatly around his eighteen-year-old body.

He was a very tall and naturally well-built young man, but his military garb made him seem almost gargantuan.

He was holding a breakfast tray with both hands, which, from what Elsa could see, carried a glass of juice and a plate of scrambled eggs. He slightly rocked back and forth on his feet, waiting for Elsa to allow him in.

There was a particular fondness Elsa harboured for Everett and it was something she could not quite explain. Popular among the other students he was, undoubtedly, one of her star pupils. He had immense talent for written expression, was a wide and avid reader, and possessed unparalleled intuition. There was no doubt in Elsa's mind that if the United States would allow it, he could forge an incredible path and a radical impression upon American history.

Smiling, Elsa beckoned him in.

"I didn't see you at breakfast this morning." He said quietly, entering the room. It was a marvel to watch him move, to watch his long graceful limbs work in a steady and seamless stride.

"I guess I slept in." Elsa chuckled.

"Well, it's a good thing I brought you this." Everett smiled, placing the tray upon her bedside table.

"Thank you."

After a moment, Everett pointed to the sturdy leather armchair which sat in the corner of the bedroom.

"Do you mind if I sit here, Miss Muller?" He asked.

"Of course."

Elsa was more than happy for the company, more than happy to keep her mind off Alex.

As he sat down, he nervously picked at the collar of his shirt. His jaw absently ground away beneath his dark satiny skin.

It startled Elsa, to think about how much he had grown. She could remember, and with astonishing clarity, the exact day five years ago when she and Charles had travelled to Jackson Mississippi to collect him. Even at thirteen, Everett had towered over everyone in sight; both whites and blacks alike would often mistake him for an adult.

It was the Mississippi air which circulated through his lungs, but the blood that coursed through his body was laced with the earth of his birthplace of New Orleans. By the time Elsa had met him, Everett had already lost his father and the previous year, his second sibling had died shortly after birth. He had considered Charles and Elsa's proposition with the patience and the maturity of a man twice his age, and it was evident that he had had to grow up quickly; his stature had proved to be both a blessing and a curse. Whilst his intimidating height had saved him from the wrath of white youths, it had also robbed him his right to youthful innocence and naivety.

He exuded easy charm and warmth but had never displayed the same youthful vigour his classmates exhibited. He had always played the role of adult, and so Elsa wondered why she was so unsettled to see him dressed like one.

Everett twisted his hands in his lap, and uncomfortable with the silence, Elsa spoke.

"You look very smart."

Even as the words tumbled out of her mouth, Elsa regretted it.

Everett no doubt looked very handsome, but a man's uniform worn over a teenager's body never looked right.

Elsa hopped out of bed. She pulled on her night robe and fastened its silken belt as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

She leaned forward, clasping his hand with her own.

"You're going to be just fine, Everett, I know you will."

"I'm not afraid of war, Miss." Everett muttered, shaking his head. "I'm afraid of what I'll come back to."

Elsa furrowed her brow. "This. You'll be coming back to this."

Everett looked up, caught Elsa's eye.

"How much of that do you believe?" He said "The Professor...he won't be able to survive without all of us here. Especially, if you leave."

Elsa leaned back, quickly reminding herself that telepathy was not Everett's mutation.

Everett smiled sheepishly. "I heard you yellin' at Mr. Summers. I think everyone did."

Elsa couldn't help but laugh. She and Alex had abandoned attempts to listen to each other and instead tried to drown the other with their voices, and in hindsight, they should have realised just how thin the walls of the Mansion were.

"It's just talk at the moment." said Elsa, pulling her hair into a low bun.

"Because Mr. Summers doesn't approve?"

Elsa had thought about that, wondered just how much of herself she had already and was yet to surrender to Alex. She had always thought that she had retained her independence, both with her first love Warren, and now with Alex. But on countless occasions, she had been reminded just how much she had allowed both men to seep and control into her existence.

Silence passed between them, but Elsa was in no hurry to inquire the nature of Everett's visit. She didn't need him to provide her a reason.

Everett looked up, a certain glint in his eye Elsa had seen only a few times before.

"Don't you think it's funny, Miss?"

"What is?"

Everett leaned back in his seat. "They don't need my vote, but they need my life."

Elsa let out a small sigh; there was not a word of a lie in what he said.

Over the life of its short existence, the school had welcomed students of not only a range of abilities but of backgrounds as well. Here, they were bonded not by the colour of their skin or the class of their families, but for what they were; mutants. The school had served as a sort of bubble for the students. None of the hatred and bigotry of the outside world had permeated the school gates and it was easy to forget that the rest of the United States still sweltered with the heat of injustice.

It was easy to forget that, for students like Everett, to the outside world they were African-American before they were mutants. That the discrimination, the hatred and the suffering they endured sprung first by the colour of the skin, second by their genetic mutations.

Suddenly Everett sprang up, his arms folded over his chest as he began to pace the room.

"My daddy and my granddaddy, they fought in both the World Wars. Once to march on the Kaiser, again to march on Hitler. Both on the front line." He said, his jaw tight with anger. "They bled, Miss Muller, they bled for this country. In more ways than one."

Everett stopped, looked at Elsa as single tear rolled down his cheek. He hastily wiped it away.

"But when they-they returned, they couldn't even come home in their uniform. Still had the KKK beating down on our doors every other night, they still had the chance of getting' beaten up and strung up from a tree jus' for lookin' at white folk the wrong way!"

Elsa stared at her feet, unable to offer anything meaningful.

Elsa, though had had her life defined and reigned by racial hatred, had never quite lived through the same level of bigotry Everett had endured, or even that of her mother. For Elsa, most folk almost always attributed her dark olive skin to simply too much time spent in the sun and only a few openly questioned her background; her mother had not been afforded any such benefit of the doubt.

Elsa had only met her grandfather perhaps twice her entire life. But she had come to the conclusion that he was one of the bravest men she had ever come to know.

Edmund Balfour had not been born into a particularly well off family, but possessed a respectable and well-known surname which had granted him access to the most exclusive of social circles. He had come from a long line of sergeants and captains, and by the time he had come of age, he too entered the family business. He had never been obsessed with the ideas of prestige and blue-blood as his friends were and unlike them, he had never assumed an inherent superiority over others.

And it was because of this that, during his station in Pakistan during the First World War, he had easily fallen in love with Elsa's grandmother.

According to Elsa's mother, their love had been purest and most spectacular of its kind. But when they had eventually married, his family had not shared in the joy and had promptly disowned him.

Life-long friends had refused to speak to him and any social standing he had held had simply disappeared. No one had been able to believe that a man of his repute, and an established respected officer of the war to boot, possessed the audacity to bring back a foreign wife.

To escape the venomous stares and poisonous words, they had moved to the relative quiet of Banbury. And to quell any suspicion from their new neighbours, Edmund and Ameena had changed the name of their only daughter from Eshaal to Eva. Once Ameena had died, Edmund had simply been unable to educate his daughter on the other half of her ancestry; Edmund spoke only broken Urdu and possessed no in-depth knowledge of Pakistani life and culture.

Even by the time Eva had graduated from high school, the children still teased her, their mothers and fathers still poked and prodded and occasionally looked down their nose at her. But simultaneously, they had no idea why; there was nothing to suggest her lack of Englishness other than the darkness of her skin.

As she grew up, Eva's fevered attempts to bury the other part of her meant that Elsa knew even less. And whilst it had deprived Elsa a part of her identity, it had saved her from the same suffering her mother had endured.

Everett sniffed and Elsa was broken from her thoughts.

He had stopped pacing but it was clear just how long he had kept this bottled up. Deflated he settled back onto his seat, holding his head in his hands.

"Even if I survive the war, I won't be coming back to this." Everett bemoaned, his voice a little muffled. "I'll have to go back to Jackson."

Elsa folded her arms over her chest.

She had been quite self-obsessed as of late. She and Alex had, however semi-permanently, moved out of the Mansion a year ago and such a physical break from the school had allowed Elsa to become almost completely enveloped within the world she shared with him. She had never really considered what would happen to everyone else once the war finished, what would happen if the school no longer existed.

In the absence of Erik and Raven, Charles had struggled to maintain his tranquillity but nevertheless presented a pleasant front to his students. There was simply no telling how quickly he would fall apart come this afternoon.

Elsa sighed heavily.

"The world is a changing place, Everett." She said, her brow furrowed. She realised that there was an almost desperate tone to her voice. "Fifty years ago, the Civil Rights Act wouldn't have been fathomable-!"

"That ain't nothin' but a piece of paper, Miss." Everett interjected, shaking his head. "Words don't do nothin'. Actions speak louder than words but no one's actin'."

Elsa stared at her pupil. She knew that despite his outwardly gentle and collected exterior, a quite fire burned within his heart. She had seen it in his eyes, the same quiet spark which was quickly proving dangerous to the American establishment.

He kept in his possession several of Malcolm X's written pieces, worn and thin from their constant use. But Elsa had noted that each time he had read them, he had done so with renewed vigour. In 1965, Everett had even travelled, with Elsa's permission, to Manhattan to listen to Malcolm X speak at the Audubon Ballroom.

Everett, of course, had returned from that trip a different boy. The assassination had affected them all, but Charles had been quick in his attempts to quell any radical thought or retaliatory behaviour from both his students and his staff.

Quietly, Elsa had never agreed with Charles' policy of passive activism; it had always been a source of tension between the two.

Elsa pushed off from the bed and strode over to Everett, resting on her knees before him. She looked right into his dark eyes, seeing within them a reflection of herself.

She had been a victim of submission, still woke up in the middle of the night screaming and feverish because of it. She would be damned if she would allow that to happen to Everett.

"Then act."

* * *

He pushed off the floor for what seemed to be the thirtieth time, the bundled muscles in his arms screaming with pain and exertion.

He went down, pushed up again.

Down and up again.

He didn't stop until he was sure there was nothing left, until he was sure that every drop of sweat within him had been squeezed out of his body.

Alexander Summers finally dropped to the floor, his breaths leaving him in rapid gasps and his chest heaving in a similar pattern. The floor felt deathly cool against his flushed skin, though it did nothing to abate the immense heat which was circulating through his body.

He had awoken at dawn, had run straight to the gymnasium and stayed there. He had engaged in a terrible argument with Elsa the night before and by the time he woke, he was still in no mood to speak to her.

Alex had fallen in love with her because of her quiet but fiery determination, her strength and her steely resolution. But Alex only hoped that it wouldn't dismantle them completely.

He turned onto his side, slightly tucking his knees against his chest as his eyes locked onto his uniform.

He had brought it with him, carried around the Mansion ever since it had arrived. It was still sealed within its plastic slip, still folded and devoid of any trace of his touch. Some of the others had been quick to put it on, like that boy Everett Thomas.

Alex just couldn't bring himself to do it. He just couldn't.

Slowly, he got up onto his feet and edged his way towards it. He held it with both hands, watched as the sunlight from the sky-roof danced off the clear plastic. A single drop of sweat rolled off his chin and splattered onto the plastic, shooting off into different directions as it did.

Soon, his sweat would drench the fabric beneath. His blood too perhaps, or even worse, someone else's. He tightened his grip, sure that if the urge came over him he could rip it in half.

Alex's adoptive father had been a fighter-pilot and despite its prestige, it was something Alex had promised himself he would never do. He promised himself he would never join the army in any way shape or form. He had seen what the touch of war and violence had done to his father-he didn't want that for himself. And he would have gotten away with it, if Charles and Erik had left him to rot in federal prison all those years ago.

He had since become an active citizen; he fallen in love, worked two steady jobs and served as a surrogate father to about two hundred mutant children. If he put this uniform on, if he pulled it out of its packaging and slipped it over his head, it meant that there was a very real possibility that he was about to lose it all.

Slowly Alex sat down, his hands still clutching his uniform.

"I figure it's like a bandaid." A voice suddenly boomed. Alex almost fell onto his face in fright.

"You know; rip it off without thinking twice."

Sean Cassidy swaggered into the gymnasium, his newly polished boots gleaming with each step.

Alex felt oddly upset at the sight of his cheery friend; he was carrying his usual grin, but this time had paired it with the deep olive of the United States Military. As per the orders they had been sent, his hair was nearly trimmed and combed, but as form of his own little protest had kept his moustache.

"I don't wanna put it on." muttered Alex, raising himself to his full height.

"Mm." Sean murmured. He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a wall. "I don't want you to either; green _so_ isn't your colour."

Alex could feel his features hardening. He scoffed, shaking his head as he turned away; he couldn't understand how Sean could make jokes at a time like this.

Sensing discomfort, Sean sought to rectify the situation.

"I'm scared too, alright? I never said I wasn't." He said, his smile having completely disappeared. "Not for a second. But I think you're looking at this the wrong way."

"Oh, yeah?" Alex snapped, feeling his ears burning with irritation. "And what's the right way?"

Sean gulped, his brow furrowed. Alex had never seen his friend so sullen, and in a way, it made him even angrier.

"Everything is going to be _fine_-"

"_That_," Alex interjected with a chuckle, waving his finger dismissively, "Is easy for you to say."

Sean stiffened, his jaw clenched and his fists slightly balled at his sides.

"I'm sorry?"

Alex wrapped a towel around the back of his neck and finally faced Sean. He knew he had no right to be angry at him, but Sean's perpetual nonchalance made Alex's blood boil.

"I have someone, alright Sean, someone other than myself to look after." Alex growled, wiping away the sweat on his forehead.

Sean squinted at Alex.

"Elsa is perfectly capable of looking out for herself." He hissed.

"When I leave today, whose life am I going to be thinking about? Huh? Mine? Or hers?" Alex barked, ignoring Sean's quip. His voice boomed and bounced off the walls of the gym, piercing his ears. It was strange having his words echoed back at him; it was as if they were trying to remind him the unjustness of his behaviour. His hands flew about, tossing the uniform onto a nearby bench.

Alex could feel his face contorting with bitterness, and he was simply unable to stop the onslaught of venomous language which was about to leave his lips.

"Who do _you_ have, Sean? Honestly?"

Immediately Alex fell back, thoroughly disgusted with himself. The silence that followed was deafening.

Sean's shoulders relaxed, his fists no longer balled. He sighed heavily as a surly smile spread across his face. He scoffed with disbelief.

"Fuck you, man." He muttered as he turned on his heel and began to leave.

Alex sniffed, grinding his teeth in frustration.

_What is _wrong_ with you? _

Without a second's hesitation, Alex ran after him. His feet nosily slapped about on the gravel pathway, sending missiles of stones into every direction in their wake.

"Sean!" He called. "Sean!"

Alex finally caught Sean's shoulder, roughly turning him around.

"I'm sorry." Alex puffed, quickly catching his breath.

With slight hesitation, Alex looked at his friend.

Sean sighed, sucking his teeth as he did.

"When are you going to learn to not take your anger out on the people who care about you?" He said quietly, punching Alex playfully on the shoulder.

"Give me another fifty years." Alex laughed bitterly, though relieved he had not permanently damaged any facet of their friendship.

"And it's not true, you know. I care-"

"I know!" Alex said immediately. He placed a hand on Sean's shoulder. "I know, Sean. I didn't-I was angry."

"It's not just that." Sean smiled, shaking his head. He paused for a moment. "I_ do_ have someone. For a while now, actually."

Alex was slightly startled. Sean no doubt had a keen interest in the opposite sex, but Alex had never known his friend to commit to a single girl for more than a week.

"Why didn't you say anything?" chuckled Alex, grabbing the tip of Sean's chin and shaking it. Sean offered nothing more than a simple smile, and raised his eyebrows.

It took a moment, but Alex finally understood. He grinned from ear to ear.

"She's not white, is she?"

Sean shook his head.

"You know that none of us would have a problem with that." Alex said quickly. "Heck, I can't even talk-"

"I know, I know." said Sean. He titled his chin, looked up towards the sky and sighed. He swung on his feet as he ran a hand through his hair. "This may be New York, but sometimes we're no better than Louisiana."

Alex unfortunately agreed; he could only imagine the sort of trouble Sean and his girl would run into if they dare to publically declare their relationship.

"One day, man." said Alex, clutching Sean's shoulder.

"One day." Sean agreed, his green eyes glittering.

They began to work their way up back inside into the Mansion, playfully pushing the other as they did. As they entered the staff wing, Sean indicated that he was heading toward the dining hall but Alex held him back.

"I wanna show you something." He said.

Alex quickly darted into the bedroom, immediately noting that Elsa was not present. But it seemed that she had not been gone for long; though the sheets had been neatly folded and tucked away, Alex could spot the patches of tears which were splattered all over her pillow case.

Without dwelling on his thoughts, his pulled out the tiny box from the abyss of the underwear and vests of his top drawer and headed back to the waiting Sean.

Without say a word, Alex handed him the box and despite his confusion, Sean opened it.

"As much as I love you, Alex," Sean laughed, staring at its contents. "There will two_ very_ upset girls who are going to need a lot of explaining if we choose to do this."

Carefully, Sean prized the ring from its casing, slipped it onto his finger and held it against the morning sunlight. It was dainty and almost weightless, encrusted with only the tiniest of diamonds and set in a twisted pattern.

Beautiful, yet very understated; Sean could imagine Elsa wearing it.

"I've had this with me for over a year now." mumbled Alex, he too staring at the ring. "I haven't found the right time to ask her, but now...she's been telling me that she's going to find some way to be with me in Vietnam, join the medical corps or something, and I don't know what to do anymore."

Alex sighed. "At least if she's in New York, I'd know that she's safe. Relatively."

Laughing, Sean placed the ring back into the box. "You think the prospect of marriage is going to stop her from doing what she wants? You'll give her all the more reason to run after you."

"I just want her safe, Sean."

"You want my advice?" Sean handed the box back to Alex and wrapped an arm around his friend's broad shoulders. "Wait until we get back. Wait until we're all back together again. Give us a reason to live."

He took his arm back and stretched out to his full height as he held his hands behind his back, his favourite position

"And besides," Sean giggled, his signature impish grin returning. "By the time we come back home I'll be even better looking than I am now, and then it'll be I, not the bride, who will be the centre of attention."

Alex laughed, in a way he had not done so for a while. He cherished his friendship with Sean, valued it as he valued the heart which beat within his chest. He couldn't stand the idea of losing him, the prospect returning to nothing more than a memory.

Without a single world, he grabbed Sean and pulled him into an embrace. But it only lasted for mere few seconds as Hank interrupted them.

The young doctor looked even more morose than he usually did, and his eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. Even from this distance, Alex could see the residue of splotchy tears all over his friend's kind face.

"They're here."

* * *

Elsa struggled to hold back her tears. Her throat was tight and her palms throbbed painfully. She watched as each student said their goodbyes and boarded the back of the pickup truck. A representative of the military, a Captain of sorts, stood dutifully by the back of the truck. He greeted each young man with a smile and a handshake, before crossing their name off a list and showing them onto the truck.

Elsa wanted to scream at him, to beat her fists against his chest and ask him what _exactly_ it was he thought he was doing.

Hank stood nearby, occasionally sharing a word with the Captain. Hank's doctorate had saved him from conscription, but nevertheless, he wept for those who had not been so lucky.

Everett's mother and sister had arrived just in time, dressed in their Sunday best. They had sobbed together continually for a good ten minutes, his poor mother vexed at the prospect of her only son suffering the same fate as his father and grandfather.

Elsa had managed to farewell Sean, but only just. They had shared a messy goodbye, tears everywhere and since then, he had kept his distance so as not to upset them both again. But she knew her resolve would not stand for long; she was yet to say goodbye to Alex.

Elsa swayed on her feet, choking back her tears and clutching her waist with both her arms.

A shadow fell over her and she instantly looked up.

Elsa let out an audible sob.

Alex stood before her, fully clothed in his military garb. Though his golden hair had been neatly combed back, his cheeks were red and blotchy. They had not resolved their argument from the night before, and its stench still lingered between them.

He set down his bags and held Elsa in his arms.

Without hesitation Elsa latched onto him, clenching and unclenching whatever part of him she could hold onto as she sobbed uncontrollably into his shoulder.

He pulled away and held her.

"Don't look at me like that." He whispered, kissing away her tears.

Elsa shook her head, running her hands all over his face. She closed her eyes, tracing her fingers over his features. She traced over the sharp points of his cheeks, and over the roundness of his chin, the smoothness of his forehead and softness of his lips. She kissed him, burning this impression into her mind.

"I need to look at you as much as I possibly can." Elsa whispered as she pulled away, arms still wrapped around his neck.

Alex kissed her again.

"Please, Elsa." Alex pleaded, his brilliant blue eyes glittering with his tears. "Stay with Charles. He'll keep you safe."

Elsa let out a single, stuttered sob.

"But who will keep _you_ safe?"

Alex smiled through his tears, planting a kiss on Elsa's forehead. He held her in his arms, held her so tightly her feet slightly lifted off from the ground.

"I love you." Alex moaned, burying his face into the crook of her neck.

"I love you." Elsa wept.

She rested her head on his chest, her fingers curled against it. They remained like this for a moment before Alex finally pulled away.

"Before I forget."

Elsa watched in confusion as Alex reached for his bag. He pulled out a long silken white ribbon from a side pocket and motioned Elsa to hold out her left hand.

Wordlessly, he looped the ribbon around her index finger and tied a neat bow.

Elsa was shaking.

She looked up at him and he gazed back. Without a second's hesitation, Elsa nodded in acknowledgement.

Neither of them needed to say it, both of them knew.

Alex kissed her one last time, wishing that he had had the ability to slow down time. With one hand clasping Elsa's and another carrying his bag, they made their way to the others.

Alex set the bag down and clasped a sobbing Hank in his arms.

"Hank." He murmured.

They pulled away, hands clutching the other's shoulder.

"I'm sorry, for all the names I've called you." said Alex, laughing through his tears.

"You're my brother, Alex." sniffed Hank, fixing his glasses. "I expected nothing less."

Still smiling, Alex moved away from Hank and bent down on one knee.

Charles was slumped in his wheel chair, his hair uncharacteristically dishevelled. He was still sobbing, refusing to look at anyone.

Tears rolling down his cheeks, Alex took Charles' hands and pulled them away from his face.

"Charles?"

Charles, though clearly distraught, smiled through his tears.

"Come back to us, won't you?" He coughed.

Alex nodded furiously.

He picked up his bag and looked to Sean, he too overcome with grief.

"Ready, roomie?" Sean managed to say. Alex laughed.

They began to make their way to the truck, the Captain crossing off their names as they climbed into it. Sean and Alex were the last to hop on, and so the Captain simply closed off the back, saluting the few remaining staff and students and hopped into the front of the truck.

Elsa was still clutching Alex's hand. And even as the truck began to pull out of the Mansion drive-way, even as it began to pick up speed, she held on as she ran behind it.

Before long, she was no longer able to hold onto his hand and after a while, could no longer keep up with the truck.

And all within a few minutes, he was gone.

* * *

**AN: Holy moly, I finally updated. I'm very, very sorry f****or the long wait; I've had lots of uni work lately and I have my exams beginning in a week. Wish me luck!**

**I apologize if this seemed a little long, almost boring I dare say, but I needed to get all of it out. Also, Everett Thomas is actually canon so feel free to look him up (But I completely changed his bio. X Men lack characters of colour so badly it's painful :( )**

**So what did you think? Please let me know! **

**Also, thank you to Sleepyreader319, ghostbreak, baritonemufasa and beachchick3 for their reviews! And to answer beachchick's question, yes I will be incorporating DOFP so keep your eyes peeled! **


	3. Ugly Thoughts

**AN: Well there's really no point is there, to apologize for my lateness. I really am sorry! I hope you enjoy this chapter and hopefully I'll be able to update again soon. Thank you to baritonemufasa, Bananalollypop (and thank you for the well wishes), Lizeyli, and Alysiana (and yes he will!)**

* * *

Chapter 3

-Ugly Thoughts-

* * *

The beauty of the Xavier Mansion did not lie within its numerous high towers, topped with glittering turquoise iron lacework, or the dining hall within which resided numerous Brussels tapestries. It did not reside within the gargantuan magnolias, of which the slightly shrivelled petals of its pillowy flowers now encased the grounds in a sea of white, pink and yellow. Nor did it exist in the ornate and curiously delicate Elizabethan architecture.

The beauty of Xavier Mansion lay almost entirely in its seclusion, its residence of near complete isolation. The Mansion sat at the very northeast corner of Westchester County, hundreds of miles from the throbbing heart that was New York City, away from the hubbub and to an extent away from the problems of the rest of America. It bordered Fairfield Country to the North-East, and Putnam to the North-West, but still the Mansion existed within its own bubble of existence. Neighbouring suburbs were not for miles, and access was often a confusing melee of unsealed roads and land almost completely devoid of human touch.

The seclusion had granted them all considerable protection from the wretchedness which existed not a stone's throw away, but in many ways had painfully pronounced their loneliness. It was most apparent during autumn, that strange intermission between toe-curling sunny days and bitter, blistering winter nights. The air nipped a little harsher, the winds howled a little louder, and the eerie quietness of midday was deafening.

It was both a blessing and a curse Elsa had long concluded. When she had first arrived, she had longed for the comparatively consistent demeanour of her childhood home of Banbury; it never quite exhibited the same polarity as America did. But she had come to appreciate the change, had learnt to become invigorated by the seasonal renewal.

But within these past couple of months, she had become thoroughly upset by the changing seasons.

It was now early September, and Alex had been gone for close to two months. Around this time last year, they had spent the last weekend of the holidays in New Orleans. The previous year, they had gone down to South Carolina. It was always befuddled Elsa, why Alex insisted upon the Deep South for their vacations. She hadn't minded New Orleans given the fact that the rather diverse population had made her feel rather comfortable, but she otherwise could not stand hot weather.

So why had she conceded every year? Why did she allow herself to be dragged along in his rusty Morris Minor, sun dress sticking to the back of her legs from sweat, and her skin brown and itchy from the scorching Southern sun?

Alex. It was the only reasonable explanation Elsa could procure. It was Alex's company Elsa needed and it was what made her willing to do and try things she deemed undesirable.

It was this fact that had made this moment so difficult. She had been chatting with Alex for a good fifteen minutes now, the two initially exchanging quick meaningless words, general niceties and the like. Several times she had expressed her anxieties and each time Alex had casually dismissed them, but now there was no denying that the conversation was slowly beginning to sour.

Elsa twirled the springy telephone cord between her fingers.

"We're about a day out to Saigon." Alex's voice echoed through the receiver. It was strange for Elsa, detecting the strange, exotic notes of Vietnam covertly penetrating the deep bass of his voice. It was a weirdly poignant reminder of their separation, of the physical distance between them.

"After that, it'll just be letters. I don't-"

"Not unless I'm there." Elsa quickly interjected. She closed her eyes in anticipation of his forthcoming anger, as if Alex were standing right beside her.

Elsa knew it upset him, but she simply couldn't help it. She had lost control of her life once before, and she couldn't bear the idea of it happening again. Her insistence was something that Alex simply could not or rather, would not understand as anything beyond erratic spousal concern.

There was a painful pause, with only Alex's heavy, prolonged breaths emitting from the receiver. Elsa could tell he was grinding his teeth, no doubt his eyes were closed or he was pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"What if I end this, Elsa, what if I end this right now?" He finally hissed, an unnecessarily hard edge to his voice that left her feeling a little indignant. "What then? You'll come over here and it'll be for nothing."

"I realise that it's difficult for you but I do wish you didn't have to resort to such childish behaviour, Alex." Elsa scoffed.

She examined her finger-nails, disappointed that the polish she had applied to them yesterday had already begun to chip away.

"_I'm_ the child? Elsa, I'm trying to protect you!" Alex exclaimed, the volume of his voice adding an uncomfortable static to his voice. He laughed in disbelief and perhaps he was shaking his head. "I'm trying to keep you safe!"

'_We're mutants, Alex, we'll never be safe.'_ Elsa wanted to say. It was something Elsa, certainly, was constantly aware of but seemingly something that consistently slipped Alex's mind; she couldn't believe she still had to remind him of this, almost daily.

Alex sighed, going quiet for a moment.

"Elsa, I'm begging you."

He sounded uncharacteristically tired, deflated, and there was a sudden sincerity in his voice Elsa had not heard for a while. She shifted uncomfortably as he continued.

"This may be the last live conversation I have with you for a while; I don't want to spend it fighting."

Elsa wanted to point out that it was _he_ who had chosen to avoid this conversation, that it was arguably his dismissive behaviour which was souring their 'last conversation' and that _she_ was not at fault for trying to discuss the matter properly.

But she could admit that she too was a little tired.

"Alright." Elsa muttered, stretching out her legs beneath her as she leaned against the wall.

Elsa struggled to find anything meaningful to say, desperately combing her mind for something.

She paused, smiled.

"Last week I found seven years' worth of Play Boy magazines rolled up in Vin Stewart's mattress."

There was a moment of silence, perhaps a moment of disbelief, followed by a burst of laughter.

"What, _inside_ the mattress?" Alex managed to say.

"Had split the side, attached a zip and everything." Elsa said, shaking her head in disbelief in remembrance of her unusual find. She could only just contain her laughter as she recalled poor Vin's face when he realised he had been found out. "I only wish he would display such initiative during my classes."

"I don't really blame him."

"Funny." Elsa said dryly, though she couldn't help her smile.

Silence fell between them again, filled by the quiet moans of the winds from outside.

Elsa chewed on her lip, nervously tugging at the cord.

"You be careful, ok?" She said, so quiet it was almost a whisper. "You don't-you don't need to be the hero _all_ the time. Do you understand? When you're in trouble, you run. I don't care what they've taught you, you run."

"I promise." He finally said, wholeheartedly and genuine.

"Do you pinky promise?"

"Yes." Elsa could hear Alex's smile. "Yes, I do."

"You can't stop me, Alex." Elsa repeated, twisting the fingers of her free hand. "If I decide to come, there's nothing you can do about it."

"I know."

Elsa felt a little vindicated; perhaps he didn't mean it, but it was relief to hear it nonetheless.

"But I'll try not to." Elsa quickly added.

There was a sudden hubbub of noise from Alex's end, and Elsa immediately sat up. She could hear the crunch of gravel beneath truck tyres and the sputters of motors, a booming voice shouting orders.

"I have to go, Elsa-"

"Alex, you come back." Elsa almost shrieked, desperate to get everything out quickly. "You come back to me alright?"

"Who else am I going to come back to?" Alex asked, a noticeable wobble in his voice.

Elsa closed her eyes, a tear running down her cheek.

"Give my love to Sean." She sniffed.

"Sean's giving it right back!" proclaimed Sean's unmistakable voice, cleanly cutting through the background noise. Evidently he had been with Alex the whole time, and for some reason it disconcerted Elsa.

_He let Sean listen?_

Before Elsa could think on it further, Alex's voice drew her back in.

"I love you."

There was such purity to his words, such startling clarity. It was unfettered and its sincerity made her heart skip. Elsa closed her eyes, trying to imprint the sound of his voice, of these words, deep into her memory.

"I love you, too." said Elsa, hoping he too felt the same weightlessness as she had just experienced. But without a second's delay, there was a sharp _click!_ and the line went dead.

* * *

"Let's see; have you got everything?"

Elsa could see her hands shaking as she fixed the top button of Claudia Wickham's lime-green cardigan. She dare not look, but Elsa could see out of the corner of her eye the trickle of tears leaving indiscernible tracks all over Claudia's rosy cheeks.

"I don't wanna go back." Claudia moaned, tugging at a fiery-red curl.

"I know, sweetheart." soothed Elsa, affectionately pinching Claudia's chin. She raised herself to her full height and looked out at the last batch of motley students leaving the school, now speaking to all of them. "But we don't have any other choice."

"This is our home!" One voice from the back exclaimed. The others murmured in agreement.

Elsa wanted to express her solidarity with the students but it simply would not do.

She, Hank and the few teaching staff left had begun to send the students home a month ago when it became clear that Charles could no longer be relied upon to make any executive decisions. He had turned in on himself the moment their students had been conscripted; refusing to leave his office even to attend classes, deliberately depriving him of sleep by rolling through the halls at all hours of the night, leading to unpredictable bursts of anger the following day. His erratic behaviour frightened both staff and students and the prospect of any of the parents finding out and consequently shutting the school down for misconduct and child endangerment was simply too much. They were now faced with sending this last batch home and knowing that the length of their departure was indefinite, was frightfully eerie.

"When all of this is over," Elsa tried to cut above the hubbub. "I promise you we will all be back together again."

"What if we die?"

Elsa looked down at her side to see a tiny figure beside her.

Little Timothy Carlisle looked up at Elsa with wide, questioning eyes. He was tightly clutching at the length of her skirt, the side of his plump face resting against her leg.

Elsa reached down and ran a hand over the top of his head, raking back soft tufts of fuzzy black curls.

"We are not going to die-"

"Julian died." murmured Timothy. He bit his lip and looked to his feet, wrapping his arm around Elsa's calf.

Smart, mischievous and incredibly kind hearted, news of Julian White's death had shook the school right to its core. He was the first among the students to lose their life in the war, but he certainly would not be the last.

It was startlingly apparent that the fluid membrane which had surrounded their school had been penetrated, and the disease of the outside world was slowly seeping in.

The sharp, prolonged toot of a bus horn prevented Elsa from reassuring the children any further and it was not long before they were swept up in the dust of the incoming mini-bus. Hank had hired it from a company, seeing as the county council did not provide any public buses to the Mansion.

Hank reasoned that it was much better this way, rather than to have the children take public transportation or have their parents pick them up. They may not see each other again and it was best that they would share these final moments together.

The bus door opened with a deep hiss, automatically folding out and flattening against the inside of the stairwell.

A portly, rather muddy-looking driver sat before them. He eyed them indifferently, chewing on what seemed to be a rather large piece of gum.

Elsa patted down her skirt and tucked any wayward pieces of hair behind her ears.

"You're going to be alright, I promise." She told them as she ushered them onto the bus. Some still protested their forced departure, but nevertheless clamoured on.

Elsa sighed as she came to the last member of the group.

Meriam Steiner was neither a child nor a mutant, but a friend of Hank's from his time at . She had taught advanced level chemistry and biology, but was well loved by all staff and students and evidently the best person to accompany the students.

Meriam was sobbing, hastily dabbing away at a never-ending waterfall of tears.

Elsa gave her a quick hug. "It's alright, Meriam. Go on, now."

"Charles-" Meriam sobbed.

Elsa shook her head, squeezing Meriam's shoulder. "I'll handle it."

Though evidently unconvinced, Meriam nodded her head and boarded the bus. Elsa indicated to the driver that she was not coming aboard and without a second's hesitation, he closed the door and began to take off.

The children clamoured into the back of the bus, fighting each other for a good spot as they waved goodbye to Elsa through the back window.

Within minutes, the bus was merely a dark spot within a cloud of ochre dust and Elsa found herself alone.

There was a numbness about her that she had felt only once before.

Like that, the school was done. As quickly as it had been set up, it had fallen apart with equal speed. But more than the emptiness Elsa felt a fiery anger within her, spreading wildly throughout her body.

Hank should have been here with her, standing by her side and farewelling these children. He should have offered them more than a passing, fleeting goodbye; a stranger's send-off. It had come down to her to pacify these children, to reassure them when she wasn't sure herself and Hank's irresponsibility made her fume.

She entered the Mansion, hanging her coat on the coat stand as she thought of the numerous ways she would chastise Hank once she found him.

"ARGH!"

The cry echoed through the Mansion, bouncing off the walls and its high ceilings and spearing into Elsa's ears.

She quickly turned on her heel, ears pricked and straining for the source of the noise.

But Elsa knew; she had known from the moment she had heard it.

"Charles."

A slow jog at first, Elsa began to run to Charles' office. Her skirt flew behind her as she darted up the stairs, the thick heels of her shoes clacking against the floor boards.

She came to his office, staring at it and for a moment wondering whether she even wanted to know.

Elsa heard his cries again and it seemed as though the decision had been made for her.

Using both fists, Elsa pounded on the double-door to Charles' office. It rattled it in its hinges, the ornate golden knobs wiggling from side to side.

"Charles!" Elsa shrieked. "Charles, open the door!"

She could hear pained groaning, the shuffling of limbs against carpet and the crunch of glass beneath a heavy foot.

"Go away!" Charles' voice moaned through the door. He sounded noticeably hoarse, but there was something else to his voice that Elsa couldn't understand. There was wetness to it, a slick slimy edge that lent his words an unsettling echo.

Elsa pounded on the doors again, one hand this time and the other rattling the knobs.

"Open this door!"

"Don't!" Charles called again, almost snarling. "Don't come in!"

"Charles, you open this door right now!"

Elsa rested her forehead against the cool wood, both hands rested flat at either side of her head. Taking deep breaths, she closed her eyes.

In her mind, she searched for him. Sought him out from the thousands of other voices she could hear, the lives, hopes and dreams of others she had unfettered access to.

She recoiled when she found Charles; his mind was a complete mess.

Elsa could hardly recognize it. No longer a well oiled machine, but a crackling vat littered with broken memories, unintelligible and vulgar ideas, and laced with sparkling but distant images of people no longer in his life. His thoughts were scattered, some flittering by so quickly Elsa was simply unable to pin any of them down. Others flopped about uselessly in his mind, in the way a goldfish wheezes and gasps desperately after been thrown out of its tank.

Outside noises, Elsa noticed, were muffled and distant and his vision whilst relatively discernible was blurred at best.

But it became to clear to Elsa that Charles was not alone; a second pair of hands, a pair of glasses and flashes of bright blue fur.

Elsa lifted up, staring at the door in disbelief.

"Hank?" Elsa asked slowly.

"Elsa, go away!"

Rather involuntarily, Elsa's fists had begun to ball at her sides.

'_Go _away_?'_

Anger bubbled beneath her skin, hairs standing on end and bristling against the cool air. The lean muscles encasing her jaw worked away at a steady pace, clenching and unclenching with each breath. Elsa had the mind to simply turn away, grab a few of her things and head out to the city. Wouldn't return for days or at all; leave Charles and Hank to wallow in whatever they had done, and in the shame of driving her away.

But she couldn't; she needed to know. After weeks of secrecy, of hushed conversations and late nights behind closed doors, she needed to know why she was being kept in the dark and for what.

Allowing her anger to consume her Elsa briefly metamorphosed and with an unearthly cry unsheathed her talons and smashed through the door.

Bringing herself back to her human form, Elsa almost stumbled back in dismay at what she saw.

Papers were strewn everywhere, some wedged in peculiar corners and some impaled upon the chandler above. Charles' office chair had been upturned and his desk sported a long, shattered crack down the middle as though it had been struck repeatedly. The curtains had been brought back so everything in the office was eerily illuminated by the mid-afternoon sun, bouncing off the spattering of glass nuggets from what Elsa could only assume used to be Charles' favourite paper weight.

And there sat Charles, right in the middle of the carnage. His clothes hung off his body, loose and without form and it were only now that Elsa realised just how emaciated Charles was. The lower half of him was lying helplessly against the carpet, his arms shaking violent from the exertion of supporting his upper body. His eyes were blood-shot and wildly darting back and forth as if he were a wolf caught in lights. Glistening pearls of sweat slowly squeezed out from the mess of matted copper hair atop his head, running down and illuminating his blotchy, almost feverish skin. Much to her horror, visible blotches of blood lay splattered around the professor and the closer she looked, she noticed two particularly dark patches at his knees. And though she could not be sure, Elsa thought she could detect the sour pang of urine.

Hank was crouched behind Charles, his arms hooked underneath the professor's arm-pits as if he were trying to haul him up.

"Oh, my God." Elsa muttered to herself, careful edging through the mess.

"GET OUT!" shrieked Charles, managing to hurl a small notebook at her. Elsa easily dodged it, slowly removing the distance between them.

Elsa was gawking, unable to quite understand what it was that she was looking at.

"Charles, what..."

"Elsa, please just go." Hank said, not looking Elsa in the eye.

Elsa felt like screaming.

With a sudden burst of energy, Charles went to push himself up. But he only succeeded in tumbling onto his face, pulling Hank with him.

"Charles-!" She went to grab him, but before she could do so Hank gently untangled himself from Charles and with uncanny speed grabbed Elsa by the arm.

"Hank!"

Leaving Charles heaped upon the floor, Hank dragged Elsa out of the room and into the adjacent corridor.

"Listen-" Hank began.

"Let go of me!" Elsa hissed, yanking her arm out of Hank's grip.

"I need you to understand-"

"What in god's name are you doing, Hank?" Elsa snarled, though in hushed tones. Her mind was reeling, still not able to comprehend.

Hank straightened himself up, lips twisted into a grimace.

"I'm trying to help." He said calmly, although it was clear that he was agitated.

"Help? Is that what you think you're doing?" Elsa almost broke into maniacal laughter. "I ought to call Willard right now!"

Hank furrowed his brow. He paused.

"Put Charles in an asylum?" He asked disbelievingly, leaning forward slightly.

"No, put _you_ in one!" Elsa exclaimed, shoving him once in the chest with both hands. "Look at what you're doing to him-! I don't even _know_-"

Patting his chest, Hank regained his composure.

"What I'm trying to do, is bring Charles' legs back." Hank said rather matter-of-factly. It infuriated Elsa even more, his seemingly nonchalant attitude.

"You can't bring them back!" Elsa spat, almost throwing her arms up into the air in exasperation.

"Yes, I can." said Hank, shaking his head. From the inside pocket of his blazer, he pulled out a single vial. The fluorescent green liquid within it gleamed in the partial sunlight, small bubbles popping upon the liquid surface as Hank tipped the vial up and down. "With this."

Elsa sighed, her arms crossed over her chest. It was as if nothing had changed for Hank whatsoever.

"Again?" she asked quietly, though her tone was venomous.

"No, no it's not quite the same." said Hank, flinching at the memory of his initial failed serum. "This works. It truly _works_."

"Then please explain to me what I just saw."

"The effects wear off after a while, and sometimes cause a little pain-"

Elsa scoffed, shaking her head

"_After a while_." Hank reasserted, his eyes hard and his expression set. "But I am beginning develop a serum that will prolong-"

"Stop. Please, Hank, stop."

Hank titled his head, glaring at Elsa with the same expression Alex had offered her when she first suggested that she should join him in Vietnam.

"You don't want to cure Charles?"

"I don't want to give him false hope, Hank!" Elsa screeched, though acutely aware that Charles was but a few metres away. "And I want you to stop trying to guise the personal benefits you stand to reap as simply an unforeseen bonus."

"Oh, you do not get to take the high ground over me on this." Hank scoffed, tucking the vial back into his blazer.

Elsa clenched her jaw. "Excuse me?"

"We all know you're planning to leave, run off into Vietnam and tail-gate Alex." Hank sneered. "Yes, you keep telling us that you won't. That you won't leave unnecessarily, but we both know how much of a big fat lie that is."

"I'm not_ running off_ to anywhere." Elsa said with equal derision. "Unless something happens, god-forbid it does, I am staying right here."

"Bullshit." Hank spat.

Elsa had never seen Hank like this, so snarky and dismissive. It was a clear defence mechanism, but Elsa was astounded that Hank could be so malicious.

"You were never here for Charles." He said, and it was clear that he had been sitting on these thoughts for a while. "The only reason you stayed with us on the beach that day was because _Alex_ held you back. You've been chewing on your tongue for six years because you can't bear the idea of facing Erik and admitting to him that you were wrong. So don't stand there and shake your head with disdain; you're no better than me. I think I can go as far to say that you're worse."

Elsa stood back, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

It was a rather humbling experience, to see a part of someone previously unknown despite years of friendship; to see them in a way never quite fathomable before.

To actually _know_.

"Oh, look at you Hank." Elsa said coolly, tutting. "It seems like you've finally grown a back-bone."

Without waiting for a response, Elsa pushed past him. She needed a stiff drink she decided, and a day away in the city wouldn't hurt.

But before she could walk away in satisfaction that she had had the last word, Hank's scornful voice echoed through the Mansion and almost stopped her in her tracks:

"And it's much denser than yours, I'm proud to say!"

Elsa flinched as she rushed out the front door, slamming it behind her. She knew, she knew that no level of loud noises or physical manifestations of anger could mask the fact that Hank was right.

* * *

_3 Weeks Later_

She tugged at the thin string of the teabag, pulling it up and wiggling it in the air, sending tiny splatters of tea onto the kitchen table. She squeezed out the excess from the tea-bag, wincing from the slight burn it inflicted upon her fingers. She watched in slight amusement as the denser half of the liquid swirled and settled in the cup.

She did this, almost, to the beat of the city. To the sound of the tooting horns, the drum of industrial machinery and the pitched chatter of men, women and children.

It was surprisingly soothing, a simple task that required nothing more from her than effortless bodily movements. She was keen to extend it, slow her movements to a snail's pace and stay there.

But she was not alone.

Taking her cup into one hand and the tall glass of juice she had poured for her guest into the other, Elsa proceeded to the living room.

Smiling, Elsa handed the glass to Greta and took a sip from her own cup.

"I just can't tell you how excited I am." Greta sighed, grinning from ear to ear. She ran a hand over her significantly swollen belly, as she looked around at the apartment lovingly.

She caught Elsa's eye, suddenly appearing rather melancholy. "This is...it's going to be a new start."

Greta Collins was black, twenty-one years old and pregnant. At least, that was what she had opened with she had met Elsa for an interview to assess her suitability as a prospective tenant for the apartment. She had graduated from high school with top marks, was Shaw educated and currently worked as a secretary for a down-town firm. Her first sexual encounter had resulted in her pregnancy, but from what Elsa could gather Greta was still on amicable terms with the child's father.

Greta was, by all means, a perfect prospective tenant and one of the few Elsa had taken a real liking to.

It was not long after her argument with Hank that Elsa had decided to rent out the apartment. After she had finally been made privy to the true extent of Charles' condition, she had decided it would be best to stay at the Mansion at all hours. She was still vehemently angry with Hank, but her concern for Charles' had won out over her ill-feelings.

His letters had slowly started to decrease in number and length, but she was sure that Alex would not have opposed.

And in any case, it didn't feel right to live here without him.

"You're going to have a home for your little boy." smiled Elsa, handing Greta her glass of apple-juice who took it gladly. She placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed it. "That's what matters."

Smiling, Greta carefully sat down, elegantly crossing her ankles. Elsa sat opposite her, placing her cup of tea upon the coffee table.

Greta had been visiting intermittently since Elsa had selected her, always bringing various foods and drinks of which Elsa had never eaten before. She was charming, polite and generally good company.

But it was her independence Elsa admired the most, her determined nature.

Greta placed the glass onto the coffee table. She smiled nervously, as though sitting uncomfortably on an embarrassing or awkward thought.

"I've been meaning to ask..." She began. "I've never met your husband?"

"Oh, I'm not married." Elsa said hastily (she noticed rather _too_ hastily). She looked down at the ribbon tied around her finger, gently pulling at the ends.

"But I'm..." Elsa just stopped herself; _engaged_. "With someone."

"Oh!"

"He's in Vietnam."

"Oh." Greta's grin disappeared.

Greta's disappoint was clear and the more Elsa looked, the more she realised how much she _lacked_ it. It was an ugly thought, really, and it was something that she had noticed only a few days ago.

She shook her head, trying to push those thoughts out of her head.

Elsa leant back in her seat, glanced around her surroundings.

The miniature wooden grandfather clock which sat atop the television set caught her eye, and for a moment she wondered what on earth had compelled to purchase such an ugly thing. It took a moment longer to remember that it was Alex who had bought it, that it was he who had (tried) to convince her of its beauty.

She inwardly frowned.

Dusting off her peg trousers, Elsa got to her feet with Greta following suit.

"But it's going to be fine, isn't?" She said, wrapping an arm around Greta's shoulder. "It's going to be fine for me and it's going to be fine for you two."

Smiling, Greta gave Elsa a quick hug. "I should get going."

"Yes." Elsa held up the box of sweets Greta had brought her. "Thank you, for these."

She popped one into her mouth, offering one to Greta who politely declined.

"I won't be able to stop at one." She laughed.

Bidding Greta good luck, for it was unlikely Elsa would see her in person again in the near future, Elsa ushered her out the door.

She sighed heavily, running her hands through her hair. There were still plenty of things to do; a final mop of the floorboards, numerous items to pack and seal, furniture to drape. Elsa didn't feel overwhelmed, rather glad for the distraction.

Alex's absence had not left her in a crumbling mess as she had thought it would, and she tried her best not to admit she was started to feel a little lighter-

The trill of the home telephone broke Elsa from her thoughts. She rubbed her eyes, tucking her sleeves over themselves before she started for the phone.

"Hello?"

"Elsa?"

She paused for a moment, slightly taken aback. The phone often distorted the tones of the voices which passed through it, but Hank's voice was seemingly unaffected.

"Hank?" Elsa whipped the hair out of her eyes. "What is it?"

"Elsa-" Hank sounded solemn, slightly anxious and with a detectable undercurrent of intense panic.

"You've never called this line."

"Yes, I know. But I didn't know when you were coming home-"

Elsa sank down into the nearest seat, crossing her right leg over the other and her hands clutching the phone so tightly her knuckles were white with strain. She could begin to hear her heart slowly increasing in beat.

"Hank?"

Elsa heard Hank take a deep breath, his voice slightly rattling.

"It's Alex."


	4. Relics

**AN: *Nicki Minaj laugh* I'm so sorry for the delay, and I'm even more sorry that the length of this chapter does justify the long wait. But still, I hope you enjoy it!**

**Also, thank you to Goddess of Leo and Lizeyli (hopefully I didn't frustrated you both too much!) and all the people who favourite-d and followed these past couple months!**

**P.S. I pretty much wrote the last two sections of this chapter listening to 'Empty Places' from the Gone Girl soundtrack, so there's a fun thing for you to do whilst you're reading! Let me know what you think.**

* * *

Chapter Four

-Relics-

* * *

A sky almost azure, sickeningly pigmented and cavernous. A sliver of sunlight, just peeking through the spattering of white clouds above. A chartreuse overlay of brittle, ovate foliage.

'_Half a league, half a league onward.' _

He watched the world above as he lay motionless, though aware that he was on his back. He could feel sharp shards of dried grass poke through the cotton of his shirt, pressing lightly against his flesh. He could feel the dirt beneath his fingers, loose granules sitting underneath his nails.

'_All in the Valley of Death.'_

There was an incessant ringing in his ear, a high-pitched whir that seemed to be radiating further and further into his head. He could hear cries, screams, mechanical booms and the grind of metal against metal. But all of it was muffled, all of it reaching him through a thick muzzle.

'_Rode the Six Hundred.' _

"ALEX!"

His ears popped and Alex Summers felt as if he had been hit over the head with a shovel.

Screaming. No matter which way he turned he heard screaming; whirring and low-pitched buzzing, the sound of missiles hurtling into the earth and sending pounds of soil into the air; the jitter of automatic bullets cutting through the air and hitting soft flesh.

"ALEX!"

He was suddenly aware of something on his chest; a hand. The front of his shirt gathered in between Sean Cassidy's long pale fingers. He was pulled up to his feet, almost staggering back as he did.

Sean was yelling at him, pushing a gun into his hands but Alex couldn't make out a single word. He looked up, saw the incoming soldiers and it was as if the sight of them induced a strange reflex in his arms. His gun was up and without thinking he began firing.

'_I fell.'_ Alex quickly thought to himself. _'I must have fallen.'_

There were others around him, edging back and shooting, edging back and shooting. Alex's vision cleared, and he could see that there were too many of them.

"Fall back!" He heard someone cry. "Fall back!"

Motioning to a few others, albeit a little dizzy himself, Alex managed to put one foot in front of the other and ran.

He picked up speed as he put more and more distance between him and the enemy; half out of fear and half out of reassurance by the fact that he could feel Sean near him. There were others running at his side and others in front of him, and as the prattle of enemy fire began to fade Alex felt better.

It was short lived, however, as new bullets began to come at them from the groves. The two men running ahead of him each fell with a cry and out of instinct Alex flattened himself against the ground.

A body suddenly slumped onto the ground beside him and Alex braced himself for the sight of blood and splattered brain. The soldier appeared dead, eyes frozen with surprise and mouth slightly ajar, but there was no sight of a wound.

Alex was just about to reach out to him when his breath caught in his throat.

There, just stuck in at the jugular, the feathered end bristling casually in the breeze; a dart.

Alex's mind was racing at a million miles per hour, heart thumping against his chest. Before he had time to think, Sean's fingers were grabbing at him once more and once more he was up on his feet.

"C'mon!"

Though startled by what he had seen Alex pulled up his gun and fired indiscriminately into the thicket as he ran, hoping it would hit someone or at the very least buy them a little breathing space. He, Sean and a surviving marine named Hermes ran deeper into the jungle.

Half certain that they were clear of danger, the trio leap into a crevice behind a rather large bamboo thicket.

They were breathing hard, wheezing and spluttering. It was meant to have been a simple, straight-forward trek to their next base.

Needless to say the ambush had been less than expected.

Alex leaned back and peeked through the bamboo, straining to see anything.

"We have to go back." He panted, his gun rattling in his hands.

Sean had his gun rested across his knees, both hands rested over it as he managed to haul in a few laborious breaths. He looked to Alex with dismay.

"Did you hear me, Sean?" said Alex. "We have to-"

"You were muttering to yourself." Sean interjected, looking him up and down. Alex could feel Hermes' gaze on him also.

"When I picked you up, you were muttering stuff. 'Valley of death' or something."

Alex blushed.

'_Tennyson.'_ Alex wanted to say. _'It's Tennyson. My father used to recite it for me whenever I was scared.'_

Shaking his head, Alex pointed out to where they had run from.

"We have to go back. We can't just leave them there."

He looked back over his shoulder again, wrought with despair as he thought of the others. He was doubly guttered; most of the men they had escaped with were mutants.

Surveying their surroundings, Sean carefully pulled himself up to his full height, gun back in his hands.

"We can't go back."

"Yes, we can."

"You might have a death-wish, Alex, but I don't."

Sean was visibly shaking, and though his lips were pursed it was clear his teeth were clattering. One foot was already behind the other, his body ready to run again.

Hermes had remained silent until this point, lips slightly parted and his breath ragged. The usually pale young man was now glowing bright red like a tomato and though Alex knew it was a wildly inappropriate thing to think given the situation, it looked rather funny against his corn-silk hair.

He had a strange expression on his face, much like a snake entranced by the snake-charmer.

"We should split up, if they come after us again." He said, still seated on the ground. He turned to Alex and gave him the tiniest nod, and Alex wondered if it was meant to say 'I saw it too'.

Hermes' full name was Michael Albert Finch, but the nickname had stuck after the other marines noticed he had spent most of his time in Vietnam delivering messages between superiors. He was younger than Alex only by a year, but he had spent most of his young life a military brat and so knew the in's and out's of a soldier's life better than most.

The other soldiers had always commented on their physical similarity-_"Y'all look like y'all came out of the same woman!"_-and had often mistaken one for the other. It made it quite easy for Alex to like him, and even easier so as it became increasingly obvious that he was one of the better people in service; Alex was hopeful that they wouldn't have to part ways

Alex turned back to Sean, watching him. Hermes would follow whoever ran first, so the only thing to left to do was to try and will each other into compliancy.

Silently damning Sean in his head, Alex broke for a run. At lightning fast speed Sean reached out, grabbed Alex's shirt and pulled him back.

"There's nothing we can do!" Sean hissed through gritted teeth.

"They weren't hit with bullets." Alex managed to say, shaking off Sean's grip. "I saw, there were-"

As if on cue, a dart whizzed past them and imbedded itself in a bamboo trunk just beside Hermes' ear.

"Shit!"

"Go, GO!"

Hermes' grabbed Alex's hand and squeezed it, looked him once in the eye and ran off west, disappearing into the jungle.

At least he was true to his word.

"I'll see you bitches at the reunion!" He called. And with that, he was gone.

Alex allowed himself a single chuckle, before he and Sean took off once more. They ran further down into the jungle until they came to a clearing and for a moment, Alex was sure they would be able to shake off their attackers and somehow trek back to the Da Nang base.

"AGH!"

Alex whipped around.

Sean was gone.

Heart thumping and mouth drying, Alex pulled up his gun and ran back after his friend. He was fighting back tears, praying that Sean was alright.

"Sean! Sean!" Alex screamed, his voice starting to croak. "SEAN!"

Alex almost felt forward.

Sean's gun was strewn on the ground, the clip removed and the barrel bent in half.

It was as if he was hanging in the air, hands gripped around whatever it was that was wrapped around his neck.

It took Alex a moment to realise that there was something _behind_ Sean.

A figure stood firm behind the hoisted Sean, donned in a grey uniform which startlingly contrasted against their bright red skin.

"Azazel?" Alex whispered.

It was as if nothing had changed. They were back on the beach, standing before each other as they had done all those years ago.

But there was something different about him, something strange and almost robotic.

His skin was dull, sagged and blistered, and his jaw was slack. There seemed to be some sort of collar twisted around his neck, and a curious clasp around his left wrist.

He looked significantly smaller than what Alex remembered, as if he had been hollowed out and had forgotten to be filled in again. But it was his eyes that unsettled Alex; dead and unmoving, as if nothing lived behind them anymore.

He caught Sean's eyes, both filled with tears. He needed to do something, anything, quickly-

Before he had time to think, Azazel disappeared with Sean in a flurry of red and black smoke. Alex did not have time to agonize, however, as Azazel reappeared within seconds and with Sean no longer with him.

He moved to Alex, in slow agonizing steps.

Alex began to back away, at first hesitant to fire; he had a million questions burning through his mind but above all it was somehow clear that Azazel wasn't simply following Erik's orders; something wasn't right.

Alex knew a gun was too slow for Azazel, so he threw it to the side.

Just as he did Azazel leapt for him with palms open and despite his gaunt figure, Azazel managed to knock Alex to the ground. They grappled for a moment, before Alex kicked him off. He began to scramble away, warming his hands as he did. He could feel the surge of energy building up within them, though hoping not to use them.

But Azazel came after him again, and this time Alex released three sharp shots of energy. One just managed to nip the side of Azazel's shoulder but the others caught into the surrounding jungle, setting it alight.

Soon the neighbouring greenery turned a crackling orange, bringing down trunks and filling the air with thick black smoke.

Alex could feel the poison trickling into his lungs, and soon he began to feel dizzy. He kept up on his feet, however, determined to escape Azazel.

He sank to his knees, wheezing and spluttering. His head was pounding, eyes stinging and skin tingling. He just caught sight of Azazel's red figure, which seemed to melt into its surroundings, before slumping against the ground and welcoming oblivion.

* * *

'_Something happened. They were travelling…and I don't know…they were ambushed."_

She was lying upon the floor, knees pulled up to her chest. Her throat was dry and her lips were parched but her body was sweltering, an almost unbearable heat bubbling beneath her russet skin.

"_They can't find any of them. Not…not a single one. It's like they…disappeared."_

She had stopped crying a while ago, went from listening to her own gasping sobs to the quiet wheezes of her ragged breathing. She just stayed there, for hours perhaps, hot and sweaty. She had not bothered to clean the mix of snot and salty tears which had left trails all over her face.

Hank's voice was echoing in Elsa's head, on a loop like a broken gramophone.

When Hank had called, he at first tried to recant. Tried to back-track. Tried to lie.

And when he finally told her, Elsa felt a certain numbness take over her. She hadn't even fallen to the floor, her knees had not dramatically buckled beneath her nor had she fainted like a grief-stricken heroine out of some old-Hollywood film.

She had simply sunken to the floor, a deflated balloon slowly descending to earth. The foetal position came later, the quiet sobbing came even longer.

Alex was missing, along with Sean and the rest of the battalion. Lost somewhere in the middle of Vietnam, gone in a place a world away.

One minute he existed, the next he did not. That's all she understood.

She slowly pulled herself up, rested against a wall.

She felt groggy, a little disorientated. She turned her head and looked out the window, just registering how dark it had become outside.

For how long had she lain on the floor?

Elsa brought herself to her feet, almost stumbling forth in the process. It was as if all the strength in her legs had disappeared, no longer able to support the weight of her.

She just managed to haul herself into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She turned on the faucet and pulled off her jumper, immediately splashing her face with cold water.

Elsa grabbed the sides of the sink with her hands, knuckles white with exertion. She had been here before, had stood like this once before, had stared at her sordid reflection through the mug of a dusty bathroom mirror once before.

Elsa bit her lip in frustration, teeth gritted hard with anger. She rested her chin against her shoulder, sobbing quietly into it.

She was once more at a crossroads, and she had been brought there again once again not out of her own volition.

Elsa had thought her life had changed. She really had.

* * *

Hank McCoy stared at the back of that curly coppery head, watching the light wind ruffle his curls. Hank's arms were crossed over his chest, brow furrowed, unable to contemplate what exactly was going through his friend's mind.

Charles had rolled himself out of the Mansion a few hours earlier, had perched himself at the top of the back mound over-looking the stretches of field which he had skipped and frolicked through as a child. Hank had followed him out, watching and studying Charles' every move.

He had gone deathly quiet when he told the professor what had happened to Alex and the others. A strange look settled over his face, eyes gone cold and lifeless.

It was all some sort of lucid nightmare, which was the only way Hank could describe it. He couldn't comprehend just how much life had changed over such a short period of time. It had all come over him so quickly, so quickly that he had had hardly any time to think.

It was what he told himself, at least, to put himself at ease.

It was not lost on him how clinically he had dealt with the sorrows of the past year. Sure, it had come to him the same way it had come to everyone else. But unlike the others he had simply shaken his head and had not dwelled on it, merely steeling himself for the next day.

Hank wished he was different.

He rubbed his temples, sighing heavily. He wasn't sure how much longer Charles was thinking to stay out here, but he knew he wouldn't be able to leave him.

And if anything, watching Charles gave him something to do. Something to put his mind at-

Hank squinted. He could hear a strange crunching noise, but it was hard to discern anything in the darkness.

It took a moment but as the back of Charles' head began to disappear from sight, Hank finally realised.

Charles had removed the safety lock that Hank had installed on the wheelchair, and was now hurtling down the mound.

"Charles!" Hank screamed.

He broke into a run, feet slapping against the ground and his heart skipping beats as he did. His arms flailed wildly in the air, the back of his shirt puffed out like balloon.

There was an energy soaring through Hank that he had never experienced before; the chemical high of fear was both exhilarating and unsettling.

Hank growled; Charles seemed to have reached jet-like speeds. The wheels of his wheelchair rattling violently, he could hear the tiny rocks falling in around the spokes and clattering against them.

Hank was bounding down the hill on all fours, occasionally missing a step but was quick to make up the distance; his super-human speed was perhaps one of the few good things to come out of his mutation.

A million images flashed through Hank's mind; Charles' crushed skull, broken arms or legs, splattering of blood and brains.

A brick dropped through Hank's stomach as he watched Charles' chair hit a bump and the professor went flying, soaring for a moment before landing with a sickening thud.

Hank roared.

He finally reached him, wheezing and heart still racing.

Charles was spread eagle on the ground, his legs lying uselessly beneath him.

He seemed dead but upon closer inspection, Hank could see Charles' back rise and fell with each breath. For all the trouble Charles' was causing Hank caught himself wishing that the professor had not survived the descent.

Hank twitched uncomfortably.

"What are you doing?!" Hank half-panted half-screamed, grabbing Charles' shoulders and shaking them.

Charles sprang to life, and it was as if Hank had disturbed a hive of wasps.

"Letgoofmeletgoofme!" shrieked Charles, scratching at Hank. The side of his face was covered in dirt, was mingled with tears and tiny globules of blood, and with his hair in his eyes Charles looked positively insane.

Shaking his head, Hank hooked his arms around Charles and began to haul him up.

Charles shrieked, writhing and twisting in Hank's arms. His hands were grabbing at the air, and his teeth were gnashing as if he was trying to bite.

"LET GO OF ME!"

"Charles, stop it!"

It didn't take long to place Charles back in his chair, and despite the scratching Hank had him buckled in quickly after.

Charles pulled against his restraints, groaning with exertion.

Taking a moment to himself, Hank looked down at his hands. They were covered in small abrasions, the skin raised and pink from the attack.

He brought them closer to his face; Charles had drawn blood.

Hank looked up, stared at the professor. He was still writhing in his seat, pulling about so hard that the wheelchair jumped about.

Hank didn't know how to feel.

Ignoring Charles' protests, Hank grabbed the back of the chair and began to ascend the hill.

As they reached the top, they were met by Elsa. She appeared flustered, right hand clasping a teaspoon still dripping with black tea.

"I heard screaming-" She gasped, looking down at them. "What's going on?"

Hank paused a moment, before pushing past her.

"He tried to kill himself." He muttered.

He wheeled Charles into the living area, locking in the wheels and slamming the doors shut behind him. Hands still tingling from Charles' attack, Hank headed for the kitchen as Elsa followed.

Despite the tingling, Hank wretched open the taps to the kitchen sink and ran his hands beneath the cold water. It was only soothing momentarily; he could feel the stinging beneath the rush of the water.

He sensed Elsa's presence, and slowly turned his head against his shoulder.

"I know what you're thinking." He muttered quietly. He turned round, gently dabbing away the wetness from his hands with a paper towel.

Sighing, Elsa sat up on a high chair.

She looked more disheveled than Hank had ever seen her. He had always thought her pretty, and even when she had lived in fear of Lewis Worthington she had remained so.

Now, she just looked tired. As if a heavy weight was always pressing on her.

The way his mother looked before she-

Hank shook his head.

"He's missing, Hank." Elsa blurted out, arms folded against her chest. "And I said that if anything happened to him, I would go after him and-"

"I'm sorry, but did you not see what just happened here?" Hank scoffed, chucking away the paper towel. "You're needed _here_-!"

"For God's sake!" Elsa sprang to her feet. She had one hand on her hip, the other pulling at her ink black hair.

"I'm not just leaving him there." She muttered dejectedly.

Hank softened, resting his forearms against the kitchen table top.

"It's insane, Elsa." He said urgently. "How would you even _begin_ to look for him?"

"I know how it sounds, Hank. I know."

He paused before he spoke. "What if…what if there's nothing to look for?"

Elsa laughed bitterly, sniffing back tears. Her hands were trembling, her voice croaking.

"There are…there are _so_ many relics in my life, Hank." Elsa wiped away her tears, struggling not to descend into a blubbering mess. "So many things, people, that I can't-I can't ever see again but I carry them with me."

She rubbed at her throat, her bottom lip trembling.

"When I first came here, I was-I was_ surrounded_ by them and there was nothing I could do about it. But for the last five years…"

She looked up at Hank, moving towards him as she held onto his hands.

"I love you, Hank. You're my brother, you know this. And I want _nothing_ more than for us to still be here in an hundred years' time squabbling over biscuits and television channels."

Despite his frustration, Hank smiled.

Elsa squeezed his hands, running her fingers over his smooth milk white skin.

She looked into his eyes, shaking.

"But if I never see him again, Hank, he'll become another relic and if that happens I don't think I'll be able to survive it."

Hank had gone quiet, now slowly chewing on his lip. He had completely considered what she had said but still he wanted to bang his fists on the table, shake her by her shoulders and hold her close.

'_No!_' Like a child he wanted to scream.

But instead they stood in silence, both feeling as dejected as the other.

It was Elsa who finally moved, wiping away her tears with the rib of her sleeve before she picked up the tray of tea and biscuits she had previously prepared.

"I'll take this to Charles." She muttered, as she turned her back to Hank and left him to his own.


	5. Sudden Pangs of Fear

*Track Listing: 2. _Solomon_-(12 Years A Slave, Hans Zimmer), 4. _Especticus_-(Batman Begins-Hans Zimmer) ((Explained at bottom)*

Chapter 5

-Sudden Pangs of Fear-

* * *

He woke with a start, chest heaving in and out in quick succession and his breath escaping his lips in hisses. There was nothing but darkness; it was so thick he thought he might faint. His nose was heavy with strange smells and a sickly, sticky heat clung to him. For a moment, he thought perhaps this was what purgatory was like.

He rolled onto his side, trying to haul himself up. He quickly found that his legs were useless, limp and uncoordinated as if they were made of jelly. He fell forward, stumbled through the darkness and felt cool hardened earth beneath his hands. He stopped, groaned; a pain he had never experienced before burned through his side and the back of his head. As if hot pins were piercing his skin and burrowing into his flesh.

He was on his knees, hands desperately clutching the air searching for any thing to grab on to. Finally, as his fingers latched onto something hard and smooth, he painfully hauled himself up and slowly pushed forwarded only to be blinded by a flood of harsh light.

It was as if there had been an explosion of sound and light and he was the epicentre. He was gasping, colours whipping past him in frightening blurs as he fumbled about helplessly.

He heard a voice, gruff and somewhat muffled, before a pair of hands latched onto him. He struggled, pushing against them and flailing wildly before he realised that his feet were up on the ground and whoever it was was him holding him up.

Alex Summers had never before felt so disoriented; he felt as though he was dreaming, though the sun burning through to the back of his head suggested otherwise.

"He-ey…" the voice repeated slowly and somewhat gently, as Alex lurched forward.

"No." Alex mumbled. "No, I gotta-"

Strong arms hooked beneath Alex's armpits, slowly dragging him up against a log.

"Easy." They said, carefully setting Alex down.

Alex blinked hard and fast, forcing himself to focus. Familiar shapes began to flitter into his vision; glowing teeth, twinkling blue eyes and near white blond hair.

"Hermes?"

Hermes grinned from ear to ear. "All in one piece."

Hermes sat back with his forearms rested atop his knees. He looked better, somewhat cleaner. His cheeks had filled out a little, glowing with a soft tan. Dressed in his army pants and an impeccably white singlet Hermes somehow managed to look a little less mischievous and a little worldlier.

"I don't understand." Alex grumbled. He rubbed his left eye with heel of his palm as he took in his surroundings. "Where-?"

"About 50, maybe 75 klicks out from Da Nang." said Hermes. He pulled out a hand-rolled cigarette from his pocket and held it between his lips.

"After we split up, I ran." He explained, his voice slightly muffled as he lit the cigarette. "I ran as far away as I could, but there were-there were Charlies everywhere. I ran back but there's this huge fire just burning up the place. I was gonna turn back, I don't know, head for the mountains or somethin'."

He held the cigarette between his fingers, blowing out a steady stream of smoke from his nostrils. He grinned at Alex, waving the burning cigarette at him.

"But just as I was about to leave, I saw something. Do you wanna guess which shaved tail Louie I found passed out, face down in the thicket?"

Alex leaned back into the log and pinched the bridge of his nose and chuckled. "Herm-"

"I hope you don't mind me sayin', but I thought I found some sorta o'grown albino rat or somethin' when I first found you-"

"How do we get back?" Alex interjected, laughing as he did. As lovely as a remote village was, Alex had no intention to stay.

Hermes leaned back and surveyed his surroundings, watching the villagers move about. His gaze landed upon a young girl crouched by a pile of raw rice and banana leaves, who to Alex appeared to be no more than a teenager.

"I dunno." mumbled Hermes, still starting at her. After a moment he looked to Alex, grinning.

"I kind of like it here."

Alex couldn't help but wince.

He rolled forward and crossed his legs, holding his head to his chest. He felt a little nauseous, and the pain in his side was slowly returning. He turned his head just in time to catch a figure moving towards them.

Small and somewhat fragile, an old man shuffled towards him. He was dressed in a simple vest and patterned sarong, with a bowl balanced between both hands.

He crouched beside Alex and held the bowl to his lips.

"Oh, no-" Alex began.

The old man grunted, pushing the bowl harder into the flesh of his lips. He smiled, laughing a little.

Though hesitant, Alex began to sip and instantly regretted it. The liquid was unbelievably bitter, so tangy and musky Alex retched. It reminded him of the brew Elsa used to make up for him whenever he was sick; a concoction of herbs and funny looking plants boiled in water, a staple for her mother's family.

Grateful for the old man's concern, who gently urged Alex to drink, Alex sculled down the rest of the brew in a quick gulp. Patting Alex on the back, he handed him a piece of sugar cane which Alex immediately began to chew on.

The old man began to pull at Alex's arms, speaking at him in quick Vietnamese.

"Oh, no-no I don't speak, no I-" Alex stuttered.

"He says you need to come back inside." said Hermes matter-of-factly, rubbing his temple absently.

Alex stared.

Hermes laughed at Alex's blank expression. "Well, we can't just come into a country with guns and warships and not try and learn the language. Bit rude, don't you think?"

Allowing to be hauled to his feet, Alex and Hermes followed the old man back to the shelter.

"Where's Sean?" Alex asked quietly as they walked. "Is he here?"

Hermes took a drag of his cigarette. "I was gonna ask you that."

"Someone, someone took him." Alex said hastily. "I don't know where, but we need to find out."

"Whoa, now." Hermes stopped, crossing his arms over his chest. "What do you mean, 'took him'? They lifted him out of-?"

"No." Alex shook his head. "I don't know how to explain it…"

Hermes squinted, holding up his hand like a visor against the sun behind Alex's head.

"Got something to do with your…?" Hermes asked, giving Alex an up and down.

"I think so."

Despite all that Alex had witnessed, he still felt as though he was having an outer-body-experience. As if someone were to only pinch him, he would wake up back at the Mansion and the padding sounds of Elsa's footsteps flittering into his ears. But as for once in all the time he had known him Hermes looked uncomfortable, Alex suddenly felt his first pang of fear.

* * *

She flipped her head back up, flicking water all around her and into indiscriminate splatters onto the bathroom mirror. She paused and held her chin down towards her chest, swinging lightly on her feet as she clenched at the sides of the sink. This wasn't what she wanted, and it was all she could think about as she stared at the box of at-home hair bleach sitting idly on the edge of the bathtub. She swallowed hard and began to pull away at the casing, avoiding the pearly white grin of the blue eyed white woman printed on the box. She slipped on the pair of gloves provided, held her breath and opened the bottle.

Elsa retched several times as she worked the bleach into her hair, simultaneously wracked with fear that she would burn herself and end up with nothing but a peeling scalp and a few raggedly noodles of hair. She'd bent over the bathtub at least once to stop herself from falling over, had sat down twice on the toilet when she had felt faint; how anyone could do this regularly without hospitalization was beyond her.

Before she knew it, the job was done and the bottle was empty. But as she slipped the cap up and over her head, tucking away damp hair and dabbing away at any wetness on her face, she couldn't help but feel a little numb.

Elsa stared at herself, slightly flushed and writhing beneath her slowly bleaching hair. How easy it was for her to hide. To simply dye her hair, change her name and forever disappear into the crowds without a trace. She could only think of her mother. Her mother who had changed her name half-way through her life, had tried so hard to relinquish any part of her of which was not English only to have her dark skin and dark hair betray her every single time. Her mother who had struggled so much to assimilate, to be accepted all the while as Elsa and her brothers had been relatively spared. Limited to a certain suspicious ambiguity, their 'other' names existed on birth certificates alone.

Self-love had come very late for her mother, but when she eventually discovered it it had consumed the entire family like a tsunami. They were taught to be proud of their heritage, despite the taunting and the alienation, despite the regular hurling of 'Paki' which to Elsa left marks upon her like a physical wound. To take pride in the fact that in their veins ran the blood of a most ancient people, blood which ran from the highlands of Samahni all the way through to the bright lights and bustle of Karachi.

So much was already gone, and to strip away her beloved black hair so callously made her sick.

Elsa sniffed, clenched the sides of the faucet before any sadness could overwhelm her, trying her best to radiate it out of her body. As she wiped away her tears, she was startled by a noise outside. Muffled and distant, but Elsa recognized the distinct crunch of gravel beneath tyres nonetheless.

Quickly wiping down the bathroom, she tightened her robe and headed for the front door.

"Yes?"

A tall, burly man stood before her. Clad in ceremonial army greens, a man of at least fifty. He was clearly fit, perhaps possessing a physique which could rival a contemporary at least 20 years his junior. But from the first spattering of grey hair that peeked out from beneath his cap, the deep-set crow's feet which sat at the out-corners of his eyes, and to the sunken skin which stretched over his cheeks all suggested an old man who had become too old and too tired to keep doing what he was doing.

"Ma'am." He looked at her solemnly, holding a flag and cap in his hands. "I am Sergeant Olsen, and I…"

Elsa swallowed, not hearing the rest; she knew it all too well. She'd done this at least a dozen times before, and yet it never got any easier. In the back of mind, it was always Alex's cap which was being returned to her and for some reason it surprised her each and every time that it wasn't. It kept Elsa up at night, wondering where that indifference came from.

"There were no other names registered as Private Marone's next of kin." He said, blinking fast. "You're all he had left."

Elsa sighed silently, took the flag and cap into her hands. She stared at it, looking at it but not quite seeing it. There was once a young man who filled this uniform, whose body had pulled against the seams and the stitching. Whose long breaths pulled and stretched the fabric. Now gone.

"Thank you."

Olsen blinked, looked up around the Mansion. "It's a beautiful place."

"Maybe." Elsa said absently, thinking of the magnolia tree beneath which nearly a quarter of the senior class was buried.

Sergeant Olsen sighed. He placed a hand on Elsa's arm, though Elsa thought it irregular behaviour, and squeezed it. "If there is anything you need, anything at all, all you need is ask."

Elsa nodded, taking out a hand from beneath the bundle and shaking Olsen's own. She watched him leave, hopping back into the military truck and speeding away to bring the same devastation to someone else. She remained for a moment, listening to nothing more than the chirp of blue jays and crickets, before turning back inside and carefully shutting the door behind her.

Elsa gasped as Hank popped up from behind her. His hair was ruffled, his sleeves rolled up. He carried a sticky but empty vial of Charles' serum in one hand.

"Eddie." Elsa said.

Hank paused. "I'll make space."

He reached to take the bundle out of Elsa's hands, but she moved away.

_Not when you've got _that_ with you_, she felt like saying.

Hank sniffed, looked to his feet.

"I'm trying to wean him off." He said.

"Well, it's not working." Elsa said viscously. "He gets worse every-"

There was a creaking noise and Elsa stopped. They both turned around, just catching a glimpse of the back of Charles' wheelchair.

"Do you want to go after him?" Hank asked her, still staring into the hallway.

"No." Elsa scoffed. She looked to Hank, who was eyeing her with distaste.

Sighing, Elsa carefully placed the bundle onto the centre table and brushed herself off.

"It's not like you want to either." Elsa snapped at Hank as she walked after Charles.

She could still hear the trundle of his chair, and by the turn of his wheel she knew where he was going.

Elsa followed him into his bedroom, a place she truly hated. Though she and Hank had tried their utter best to keep it as clean and liveable as possible, the dirt, the grime and the despair couldn't seem to be able to resist Charles.

He was fiddling around near this bed, preparing to push himself onto it.

Elsa moved forward, went to take his legs.

"I don't need your help." Charles snapped, pushing her hands away.

"Charles," Elsa sighed gently, pushing his hair back out of his eyes. "Let me."

Grumbling, Charles did as he was told.

Elsa took his legs once more, and one by one carefully manoeuvred them onto the bed. She gently pushed him down, slipping the covers up and over him and began to tuck him in.

Charles pulled on an exposed section of her hair, and without warning pulled it out.

He held it between his fingers, staring at it with intense dissatisfaction. The light bounced off it, already glowing a bright copper in the afternoon light.

"You changed your hair." Charles said, a bitter tone to his voice. "I don't like it."

Elsa smiled but said nothing as she carefully untangled her hair out of his fingers. She looked over to his side table, now overflowing with still full cups of tea, plates of stale biscuits, and shrivelled pieces of dry fruit. The plate of sandwiches she had prepared for him earlier were still there, fresh and plump.

Elsa took the plate and began to hand it to Charles. "You've hardly touched-"

Without warning Charles knocked the plate out of her hand, sending the sandwiches into various dictions.

Elsa pinched the bridge of her nose. "Charles-"

"I know now. I know everything." Charles growled, looking more and more the petulant baby in his bright yellow pyjamas and his sheets tucked around him. "I had an inkling before, but I managed to get it all out of Hank. He told me everything."

"We're no use to anyone like this." said Elsa, picking up the sandwiches. "At least if I-"

"How _self-less_ of you."

Elsa ignored his quip, instead focusing her attention on cleaning up and around his bed.

"You're willing to traipse across the globe, purposely putting yourself in harm's way-why?" Charles continued, his voice following her. "For some _boy_? A boy you don't even-?"

"That's not true." Elsa said quickly, staring at him.

"You don't think he hasn't forgotten you already? You don't think he isn't rotting his way through the brothels-"

Elsa knew he couldn't help it; he couldn't help his temper anymore. She knew it was nothing more than the desperate pleadings of an old friend, but she couldn't help but feel stung by his words.

"I don't believe it for a second…I don't-" He mumbled. ""You don't like who-_what_ you are when he's not there to keep you-."

Sighing, Elsa sat by him and placed her hands at either sides of his heads, her fingers concentrated at his temples. He gurgled in protest, eyes darting around wildly.

His mind was such a mess, it made Elsa uneasy just to be in it. Charles's hands reached out to grab her in a last bid attempt, but he began to weaken. His jaw became slack and within seconds he was asleep.

Elsa tucked his long hair behind his ears, wiping at his forehead and his cheeks.

"I've lived too many lives, Charles." She said quietly, though she knew he couldn't hear her. "Resurrection doesn't suit me."

* * *

Elsa had never felt so embarrassed in all her life. Her at-home dye job had gone surprising well; she hadn't burnt herself, her hair still sat on her head. But now as she walked through the streets of New York with deep-auburn locks, she felt as though she might as well be shuffling through the crowds naked.

No one was looking at her, but Elsa felt watched all the same. It was only her hair, but Elsa felt as if she were living in the body of someone else. She wasn't fair enough to pass off her new colour as natural, but she already had a contrived story about a vacation in Portugal ready in hand that might just do the trick. As she hopped down into an alley, through the deli and through the back door she hoped it was all worth it. She had even considered visiting Erik in his cell, had almost tricked herself into believing that even the sight of him might have put her to ease. She'd ended up seeing him differently, in the way which he hated most.

His haughty derision she had expected. His empathy she had not.

'_I understand how it feels like you've found yourself. I wouldn't want to give that up either.' _

Elsa had convinced herself he'd been drunk, or perhaps doped up on mild sedatives. All the same, she would have felt a lot more comfortable with what she was doing if he had simply said to her, _'Havok? Missing? Consider it a blessing in disguise.'_ Perhaps then her resolve, whatever it may be, might have been stronger.

Elsa had come here a week before, Lou's 'basement', asking for fake papers and a passport. She planned to join the Red Cross service in Vietnam, disguise herself as a nurse from Buffalo. She could handle airport security, the other qualified nurses, even the army itself. But she couldn't fake her own papers.

Lou Brown ran a racketing scheme out of the back of his uncle's deli, and from what Elsa could gather Lou was operating within a growing market.

He welcomed her back with a kiss.

"You changed your hair." Lou smiled, pointing at Elsa's head.

Elsa blinked repeatedly.

"You said I had to-" She stuttered.

"It's ok." He laughed, holding up his hand to cut her off. He ran his hand through what little hair he had left. "I'm just making conversation."

He leant onto the door with his shoulder, pushing through with his back. He led her through, before walking back behind a table set in the middle of the room.

He smiled, eyes twinkling. "It looks nice."

Elsa smiled, though she was struggled not to turn it into a grimace. It was incredibly dank, with the only light trickling out of a small dim light fixture in the top right corner of the room. And it smelt awful, a mixture of chemicals and garbage. She could only assume that purposely keeping his workplace in destitution was to ward off any suspicion of illegal wealth.

But they could at least open a window.

Without warning, a gruff man grabbed Elsa by the elbow and placed her in front of a white screen.

"Stand there and look right into the camera" He said, his lips smacking loudly against each other as he chewed down on what seemed to be gum.

Elsa swallowed, unsure whether to smile or not. Before she could make her mind up, there was a strange whining noise and a bright flash of light.

"Come back in a week, we'll be ready for you." He said, already busying himself for the next client.

"Can you make it sooner?" Elsa asked Lou nervously.

Lou sipped on a cup of coffee.

"I'll see what I can do." He nodded. At first, Elsa had thought his affability was an act. A means to attract as many customers and deter as many enemies as possible, or a mask for a more sinister disposition. But Elsa had combed through him and there was not a single part of him that was a secret to her; it irked her to have found someone so genuine.

Handing him a wad of cash, Elsa prepared to leave. She had no idea how it would turn out, but through the telepathic grape vine Lou was the best in the business.

"Miss?" Lou asked as she headed to the door, holding Elsa's papers in his hands. "I don't know what you need this for, and I'll never ask, but are you sure it's worth it?"

Elsa blinked.

"I've paid you, haven't I?"

* * *

It was in the earliest hours of the morning she had decided to leave, somewhere between darkness and dawn. She had gone to bed pre-dressed, her bag already packed, her documents tucked neatly into a case, and her passport hidden within her coat.

But all the preparation in the world could not have readied her for the apprehension she felt now. This was not like before; last time, she hadn't had time to think. In fact, others had done the thinking for her.

But as she tiptoed through the mansion, Elsa realised that she had never felt more alive than now. She had never felt this in control before, she had never felt this liberated. She had left adolescence long ago, but it wasn't till now that she truly felt the grown woman she was supposed to be.

It was what kept her going, kept each foot stepping out after the other.

But as she traversed through the mansion, she couldn't fight away the agony either. She knew every creak, could anticipate it with each step. She knew all the gaps in the floorboards, the tiniest water-cracks in the walls which weaved in and out of the mansion like long twisting fingers; how the sun hit the East Wing in the middle of the day only in slivers, or the family of Blue Jays tucked in the back corner of the hall ceiling. She knew all of this, could navigate this place with her eyes closed, her ears plugged. Xavier Mansion had become her home, her sanctuary-so what the hell was she doing leaving it?

It was what had plagued her all throughout the week, the second guessing and the trepidation. But it had taken her only a moment to realise that beyond the infrastructure or the vast gardens, or even Alex, what had truly made Xavier Mansion a home for her had been the life that lived here. The hustle and bustle of hundreds of feet throughout the day, the endless chatter, the laughter.

She had woken each morning to something-_any_thing-be it the hurried whispers of students rushing back to their dormitories before sunrise after an evening of (strictly prohibited) frivolities or the scuttle of staff preparing for class. The roll of the wheels of Charles' chair past her bedroom as he returned from his morning stroll.

Now, it was nothing more than silence. Save of course for Charles' sporadic, tortured cries throughout the day. Whether it was the pain of the serum or the voices in his head, Elsa didn't know. She only knew that the man who lived in the bedroom above was no longer the man she had once known.

There was no one to greet her in the halls, no one to beg her for last minute extensions over porridge and toast.

Even Hank had taken to avoiding her.

Elsa couldn't bear it, she just couldn't. Every morning she woke here only pronounced how much had been lost.

It's what she told herself anyway, as she walked into the dining hall. She couldn't risk using the front door, less out of out of her own fears about the journey she was about to take and more to do with the fact she couldn't bear saying goodbye to Hank and Charles. So sneaking a window it was.

Bag sitting from her shoulder, Elsa leaned forward on the sill of the bottom most window. Her hands were clutched so tightly her knuckles had turned white. She swung slightly, closing her eyes.

She had left like this once before, and at the time she hadn't dreamed that she'd have to do it again.

Carefully, inch by inch, Elsa unlocked the window and pushed it open. Before she could think on it any further, Elsa swung one leg over the sill. She was just about to swing out the other leg, when she was startled by a sharp creak from behind her.

"Ah-!" She exclaimed, falling out of the window and back into the room.

Hank stood before her, clad in extremely roomy striped pyjamas and clutching a torch in one hand. Frowning, he shone the light directly into her face.

"Hank!" Elsa hissed, shielding her eyes. Slowly and rather clumsily, she picked up her bag off the floor, quietly thankful she had placed nothing hard or fragile inside it.

"Sneaking out in the dead of night?" Hank sneered, arms crossed over his chest. The torch was still on, now pointed at a plain spot on a wall as it sat tucked beneath his arms. "Is there a Beatles farewell concert I don't know about?"

Elsa slipped an arm through the strap of her bag. "You know how I feel about the Beatles."

Hank sighed, paused for a moment.

"So, this is it?" He asked, glasses glinting in the late evening moonlight. He remained stoic and still, but Elsa could see the anxiousness rippling beneath his cool exterior.

"No." said Elsa defiantly, slightly throwing back her shoulders. "Because I'll come back. And I'll have Alex with me, and Sean. And we'll all pick up where we left off."

"I know you don't believe that."

Hank looked to the floor and as he did Elsa only realised that she had dropped her passport. Before Elsa had even time to think, Hank grabbed it off the floor and opened it up.

"'Katherine Barrow?" Hank read aloud, trying hard to suppress a giggle.

It was better than Joe Doe, which Elsa had naively suggested, and more credible. Or at least, that's what Lou had told her.

"I'm white enough for it to be believable." She sighed, snatching it back from him and tucking it into her coat.

"No, you're not." Hank said sincerely, and though Elsa could detect a slightly venomous undertone it was clear that Hank was still trying to convince her to stay. "That hair isn't fooling any one."

Elsa threw her hands up. "Well, it's a chance I'm willing to take."

She smoothed out her skirt, straightened her coat and tightened her ponytail. She looked to Hank though he was now staring at his feet, rocking back and forth.

Elsa moved towards the window, standing with her arms crossed as she looked out over the moonlit gardens. She closed her eyes, finding odd comfort in the cool breeze which brushed against her skin.

"Once you step out of that window," Hank said quietly, "There's no telling what'll happen."

Elsa turned to her old friend. She walked to him, placing her hands at either side of his face. He closed his eyes as she ran her fingers along his skin, watching as it slowly began to turn blue. He filled out his clothes now, with tiny tufts of fur poking out from beneath loose fibres.

He looked at her through large yellow eyes, searching her face, looking for anything that might tell him what she was thinking. She looked at him too, wondering what exactly she had done in her life to deserve a brother like him.

She told him this, though wordlessly, as she planted a long kiss on his cheek. He pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms round her in a tight embrace as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. Elsa squeezed tightly before pulling away, now holding his hands.

The claws of his thumbs ran lightly against hers, and for a moment they stood like this.

Hank closed his eyes and pulled her hands to his lips. He felt them there, for what seemed like hours, but slowly they began to slip away.

"Good bye, Hank."

"Good bye, Elsa." He whispered.

But by the time he opened his eyes, she was gone.

* * *

**Hello my lovlies! I knowww, I've done it again. And I'll never stop apologizing for it. The last few months have been a little up and down, I've been busy with a whole lot of things and it just got overwhelming. Thank you so much to all those who favourite-d and alerted this past couple months, and to Serendipity989 I already sent you a PM but regardless thank you so much for your thoughtful review! It really made my day. In terms of time, I'm sorry but I really couldn't tell you. About 1-2 months (gosh, that sounds so long!), but I'll try and improve that! **

**Also, I occasionally write with music so I thought it would be fun (I'm officially a 100 years old now) to list any tracks I used during writing for you all to listen to when you're reading (hence the listing at the top). They'll be listed with a number, corresponding to the section in which I used them. You don't need to do it, but it is something to do! **


	6. Shifting Fates

Chapter 6

-Shifting Fates-

* * *

The rain had started early in the morning; slight and pattering at first, now pelting with great force well into the evening. The earth had shifted, sunken and soft as large bodies of water filled them. For days it had been like this, unrelenting and with seemingly no end.

Elsa had once stood outside, deliberately while the other nurses screeched at her to return.

She'd turned her head up to the sky and felt the rain on her skin. Felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand, goose-pimples rippling through her body as she'd become drenched. It'd been freezing; her teeth chattering and her breaths hitched. But months spent in Vietnam chasing ghosts had left her feeling dirty and purposeless. She'd felt as though everything clung to her, held onto the thin hairs on her arms or hitched in between the wrinkles in her knees. And she would turn into bed every night seeing him and waking to nothing.

Elsa didn't really know what she thought she was expecting. She had limited knowledge of Vietnam, its landscape, its customs, or its people. And tending to maimed and mutilated soldiers in a make-shift hospital tent in the middle of a war zone didn't grant much room to learn.

She had made a few friends, mostly out of telepathic manipulation, but mostly kept to herself. The bleach had lasted her well enough, though jet-black roots were beginning to show. It would not be long before she'd have to do it again, but Elsa had never expected to stay that long. In fact, she had come to the realisation that she had never really expected anything to begin with. Everyday she went without knowing where Alex was, whether he was alive or not, and everyday he was slipping further and further away from her.

"Pass me that, please."

Elsa startled, broken out of her thoughts.

Agatha, a head nurse, looked down at her with a small smile and rosy cheeks. She was a rotund woman, not a hard edge to her both in form and spirit. A sweet woman who seldom raised her voice, and whose touch was always soft.

"Kathy?" Agatha asked again, pointing to the opaque glass bottle to Elsa's side. Though momentarily perplexed for being referred to as 'Kathy', Elsa rushed to her feet and did as she was told. Though so absent-mindedly she nearly dropped it before handing it to her superior.

Agatha smiled sympathetically.

"You alright, honey?" She asked, drawing out the liquid from the bottle into a syringe.

It had been a tumultuous week, and the tent was bursting at the seams with wounded and dying soldiers. There never seemed to be enough of anything; be it food, water, or medicine. And though frizzy corkscrews of Agatha's carrot-coloured hair poked out from beneath her nurse's cap, her cheeks always flushed a bright crimson, and her face always gleaming with a thin film of sweat she dare not show her frustration. How she managed to do so without going mad, Elsa had no idea.

"Yes, fine." Elsa replied quietly, smoothing out her apron.

"No luck?"

"They've got me in a queue." Elsa said.

A lie, of course. The most formal thing Elsa had done thus far was that she showed up at the U.N. Hospital Tent and slipped on a nurse's uniform every morning for the past four months. If she showed up to Nha Trang and lodged a formal complaint for investigation into Alex's disappearance, too many questions would arise. Her web of lies would collapse upon her, and she'd find herself entangled and vulnerable in a place where no-one knew who she was.

"Can't blame 'em, can you?" Agatha smiled, reaching over and pinching Elsa's chin. "But you mustn't give up."

Elsa nodded in reply and watched as Agatha turned on her heel and click-clacked down the length of the tent. She slumped into a nearby chair.

Elsa didn't know what she'd be thinking- how easy had she thought it would be? Turn up in a foreign country, illegally, and do what? She wasn't Raven, she couldn't shape-shift and slither about. She couldn't do like Eddie Marone and turn invisible, blend into her surroundings and slip about Vietnam in the dead of night. It had been hard enough just to find Alex's infantry (which she had discovered was entirely missing and nothing had been done about it).

Was it possible, Elsa thought, to spend so much time thinking about something and still end up making the most impulsive decision of one's life?

She imagined Charles rattling gleefully about in his wheelchair, arranging for a big banner that read 'I Told You So' in large glittery letters to welcome her when she came back.

Elsa felt movement at her side, the scratch of shifting sheets, followed by weak murmuring and groaning. She didn't need to see who it was; she tended to him often enough that she needed little more than a breath to know it was Atticus Quire.

"Kathy-?" He called weakly.

Shaking her head, Elsa hurried over.

Eyes still closed, Atticus was just emerging from sleep. His dry lips smacked slowly, breath shallow as his large Adam's apple bobbed with large gulps of air. The wounded ear beneath the bandage wrapped around his head was bleeding again.

"Yes, Atticus?" she asked, taking his calloused outstretched hand.

Atticus Quire was older than most of the soldiers who came through, and through no real fault of his own was not made to be a soldier either.

His hair-line was starting to recede into a high widow's peak, shrinking further and further down his skull with each day. The Vietnam sun had dealt him severe crow's feet and spidery wrinkles which ran all across his face in indiscriminate patterns; and the bags beneath his deep brown eyes was beginning to settle in permanently. He had come in about a month ago, bleeding everywhere and slipping in and out of consciousness. He'd immediately latched onto Elsa, and in her loneliness Elsa let him. It was selfish of course, this was a sick man after all, but Elsa was glad for the company of someone who wanted nothing from her but her presence.

"Where is he?" he asked weakly, eyes barely opened.

Elsa sighed quietly to herself. Atticus' head had taken serious blows, and it took only a second inside his mind for Elsa to see that severe damage had been done. Thoughts flittered about his mind aimlessly, the thread by which the fragments of his life had been held together now severed and fragile. He needed better treatment than this, some sort of therapy or rehabilitation. His mind had only survived this long because of Elsa's interventions.

But it had gotten so bad on the outside, their station had been marked as an 'Emergency Tent', and supplied with equipment and medication only on a three-week rotation.

"He's back home, Atticus." Elsa said soothingly, repeating his own words which he had said to her a thousand times before. "With your sister, in Florida."

Atticus had a seven-year-old son back home, whom he had given to his sister in Florida to care for until he returned. He had had him as an older man, and Atticus often told Elsa that he had never thought miracles could happen so late in life. Atticus always carried with him a photograph of himself and the boy, and Elsa often feared that if it weren't for that single crinkled photograph Atticus might have forgotten his child completely.

"Do you think he…he…uh…um-"

"Quentin."

"Quentin." Atticus smiled, clutching the photograph in his free hand tighter. "Do you think he's alright, Kathy?"

Quentin's face peeked out from beneath Atticus' fingers and stared right at Elsa. He was a dark haired child, no more than seven, whose doughy baby-fat could not hide his severe features. It was difficult to fathom that the 'intelligent', 'thoughtful', and 'giggly' child with 'a severe obsession with _Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Robots_' was the unsmiling and stoic young boy in the picture. It was difficult to tell really; the photograph was poorly lit, a sepia print, and streaked with creases. But something about him struck familiarity with Elsa. As if she'd seen that face a thousand times before.

"If your sister is anything like you, then I'm sure he is." Elsa said soothingly, meaning it.

Atticus shifted uncomfortably.

"My sister's nothing like me." He said quietly, eyes glazing ever so slightly.

Pulling out fresh bandages from the drawer, Elsa began to re-wrap Atticus' wounds.

"I'm sure he's fine." She said to him, as she peeled away the old wraps. "Anyway, I don't think it'll be long before you get back to him."

"You really think so?" Atticus smiled hopefully, reminding Elsa of a child being told to be good for Santa Claus. It was amazing, really, just how perfectly life ran in circles.

Elsa hesitated. "Yes, I do."

"If you get out before me, will you go see him?"

Elsa paused again. It _was_ in fact more likely that Atticus would never see Quentin again. She could try, but it was really the last thing on her mind. But the last thing she wanted to do was to upset him, especially in his state.

"Of course." Elsa said, patting his hand. She made to move away, but before she could Atticus shifted.

"You'll need the address-" He said, painfully reaching for the drawer beside him. He struggled to wrap his fingers around the small knob, mildly flapping at it as he grew more and more frustrated.

"Atticus, you need to re-"

Atticus went limp, exhausted from the brief moment of movement. He flashed her a pitiful look, his eyes dropping in embarrassment. Feeling a rush of sympathy, Elsa rifled through the drawer herself, picked out a pencil and pad, and sat by the edge of Atticus' bed.

"Go on."

"Okay." Atticus settled, smiling contently. "Ready? Number 7, Turquoise Way, Tallahassee, Florida."

"United States." He added with a smile. A little hesitantly, he murmured. "Ask for Shelby Cummings."

Elsa scribbled as fast as she could, tore off the note from the pad and tucked it neatly into her apron pocket. Atticus was grinning from ear to ear, or rather from ear to gaping hole, and reached out for Elsa's hand. Trembling, his held it tightly and close to his chest.

"Than-"

"She's not gonna go see him." A sneering voice interrupted.

Elsa sighed to herself.

Frank Seymour was a snivelling and thoroughly unpleasant man whose nastiness seem to follow him like a bad smell. There was not a patient or nurse he hadn't already harassed and the more he stayed the more restless he became. He was completely bed-ridden, and though many applications had been made to have him moved on and sent home for proper treatment none had availed. His unpleasant demeanour had been exacerbated by his injuries and his own helplessness, but it was a wonder that a nurse hadn't already quietly smothered him during a rainy night.

He wheezed as he struggled to lean over his injured side, eyes gleaming maliciously. "She's just saying that to keep you quie-"

"Enough, Seymour." Elsa snapped, turning to him. She could already hear Atticus starting to whimper behind her. "Or I'll put you to sleep."

It was unethical perhaps, but Elsa rarely bothered to use anaesthetic to subdue the patients if she could get away with it. All she had to do was to hold them at their temples and within seconds they'd be asleep. It wasn't necessarily a painful process, but Elsa could make it so if she wanted to. And for Seymour, she always made an exception.

Seymour recoiled, muscles twitching in his jaw. Shaking ever so slightly, he mumbled to himself before turning away.

Smiling quietly to herself, Elsa refilled the glass which sat on Atticus' side table; the pitcher was nearly empty, but what little remained sloshed from side to side as she set it down. She had just reached for the plate of stale bread crusts when she was suddenly jolted to the side.

Atticus jerked too, his entire body moving as one. Without notice, the rain had become steadily worse. But in the blink of an eye, the fighting had resumed. That was the third time this week the attacks had struck so closely, and each worse than the one before it. Splashes of mud exploded everywhere, gun-fire drilling into the wet earth.

It seemed to barely register for the other nurses, who had been here longer than Elsa had and had grown accustomed to the occasional attack. For Elsa however, each time was like the first. As she regained her senses, she moved to leave the beds but a trembling hand grabbed hers.

"No, Kathy," whispered Atticus. His eyes were wide and his breath was quick. Even heart-of-stone Seymour was a little rattled, pulling up his sheets closer to his chin. "Please, stay."

Elsa slowly plopped back down, holding Atticus' hand tightly in her own. She watched as he slowly fell asleep, against the cacophony of rain and war.

* * *

"I think you're making a mistake."

The sun had only just risen; meekly peeking over the horizon, long tentative fingers slowly unfurling and tingeing everything with a warm orange glow. Sticky golden dew which had accumulated throughout the night glistened and flickered, making it seem as though that the plains had sprouted diamonds overnight.

The air was thick and heavy with a wetness Alex had learned to deal with but nevertheless despised. The curve of his back had already sweat through the shirt he had only put on a few hours ago, and his ears were now burning red from the heat. He was bothered, sticky and exhausted but there was something exhilarating about it; he was fully aware of himself in a way that he hadn't been before. He noticed when his skin tingled against an occasional cool breeze, the scratchiness from a dry throat. His body was more than a vessel that carried him, but a machine which sweat and burnt when it overheated, replenishing itself and nurtured itself.

He felt it most when he awoke in complete darkness, watching the sun rise not a few hours later. It was the quietest he had ever experienced, a silence that was relaxing as it was unnerving.

Back at the Mansion, he'd often wake in the middle of the night to find nothing beside him but the rumpled print of Elsa's figure. He'd quietly tip-toe down the hall, rubbing the soreness out of his eyes as he went to look for her. He'd look through a window and see her sitting in the back gardens, sitting in nothing more than her nightgown on even the coldest of nights.

Even when they moved to their apartment, she'd leave him in the middle of the night and sit by herself on the rooftop of the complex. She never invited him, and he never told her he knew though he suspected she did. Alex didn't know why she did it and he was always too afraid to ask, but he felt the past few weeks had given him a glimmer of understanding.

Alex was desperate to see her again, to hold her again. And it was all that he could think about as he packed. He was neatly tucking away canisters, ammunition and foodstuffs into a small cloth bag, all the while in two minds as to his next step.

In the meantime, Hermes was doing his best to convince Alex to stay.

"What?" Alex asked, holding up his hand as visor as he looked to Hermes.

"I said, 'I think you're making a mistake'."

Alex returned to his packing.

"What's your excuse?" he asked, forcing a can into the last bit of space left.

"Excuse me?" Hermes chuckled, although he'd heard perfectly.

Alex sighed, standing up to his full height.

"I think you're afraid of getting caught out." He said, holding Hermes' eye. "You're not dead, you're certainly not injured, but instead of returning to base you're hiding out here, picking up a few…_underage_ girlfriends. Effectively deserting-"

"Isn't that what _you're_ doing?" Hermes sneered with a smile. "You'd at least have an excuse if you were just trying to get back home to your girl, instead of further into swamps."

Alex blinked, deciding to ignore the light quip.

"_I'm_ not returning to base because the first thing they'll do is scrub me up, dope me up, and send me taped and sealed on the next flight home."

"And a white man in army greens wandering swamplands, _that _isn't going to raise susp-?"

"I'll figure something out," Alex said quietly, pushing a lock of blonde hair out of his eyes.

That was the bulk of his plan; to map his journey as he went, adapt to a situation as it arose. There was nothing, as far as Alex was concerned, that he could anticipate. He had no idea where to start, or where he'd end up; he wasn't even sure of what happened in that ambush. He'd talked about it for hours on end with Hermes, trying to piece everything together. To fill the gaps in his memory, brighten the colours and louden the sounds. But the needle had again. All he truly knew was that Sean was gone. And that he couldn't go home without him. Not even for Elsa.

Alex hauled his bag over his shoulders. As he reached for his gun Hermes took his shoulder.

He slipped his dog tags up and over his head and with an open palm offered them to Alex, beckoning for Alex's in return with his free hand.

"Give me yours."

Alex hesitated, staring at the tags as they glinted in the sunlight.

Hermes sighed, lightly chuckling to himself.

"I'm not going anywhere." He explained. "And if they haven't found me by now they're not gonna find me anytime soon. Private Michael Albert Finch has been wandering the swamps, disorientated, and Private Alexander Summers is M-I-A, probably dead.

They don't agree with you, just do your little…" Hermes whistled and spun his finger in the air in a looped pattern. "…thing. And you'll be right as rain."

Alex stared blankly at the tags. It wasn't a bad plan, and he didn't suppose snooping around digging into special operations archives would count as 'returning to service'. It was the best chance he had to search for Sean for as long as he could, to keep his head under the radar.

But Alex felt disorientated. It was as if he had been sitting idly on the edge of a diving board, feet dangling tantalisingly in the air. Below, a body of water of which he had no understanding of; how deep it was, how far it went, what would be waiting for him.

Before he knew it, he was reaching over and lifting his tags off his neck. He reached for Hermes' tags and gave him his own, swapping lives, futures, and fates.

* * *

**AN: Hello, all! You're absolutely free to throw rotten fruit at me because I completely deserve it! Everything's been so rush, rush, rush these days and on top of that I finally jumped on the bandwagon and started watching Game of Thrones. There goes the next few months. **

**Anyway I hope you enjoy this chapter! **

**P.S. TigerLilly507, my story was published 2 years ago, love. But I understand that it probably felt that way! 3 **


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